


What Needs Mending

by theoneandonlylittlebird



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Family, Rumbelle Big Bang, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 07:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18090347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneandonlylittlebird/pseuds/theoneandonlylittlebird
Summary: As soon as his son turns eighteen, Mr. Gold will be able to resume contact without his ex's interference. When he fails to make a good impression on the new librarian, Gold begins to fear something he has never bothered to care about in the past, his reputation, may be insurmountable. This could cost him not only the favor of the new librarian, but ultimately his son.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unexpected](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16028681) by [BarPurple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple), [EvilSnowman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilSnowman/pseuds/EvilSnowman), [Evilsnowswan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilsnowswan/pseuds/Evilsnowswan), [imgilmoregirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imgilmoregirl/pseuds/imgilmoregirl), [RumbelleEvents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RumbelleEvents/pseuds/RumbelleEvents), [theoneandonlylittlebird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneandonlylittlebird/pseuds/theoneandonlylittlebird). 



> Rumbelle Big Bang 2019!! Big thank you for the incredible collaboration with the excellent Avatoh! Wonderful artist and extraordinary human being, it has been a pleasure to work with you. 10/10 would recommend. :D Please find us on tumblr (same names but with an @ in front) to see the wonderful art that accompanies this work!
> 
> Note: the first chapter of this was my submission for the Finish This! Rumbelle event in 2018 entitled Unexpected but don't fret! There's ish 35k more words you haven't read yet. I didn't intend for a whole story to be born out of my participation in Finish This, but it happened anyway... here is the result and I hope you enjoy.

It had been a perfect morning.

Early fall light slanted through the shop’s windows illuminating everything in gold and that suited him. Still nearly warm enough to be called summer, he had been working away the morning in just his shirt and waistcoat, sleeve garters keeping his cuffs out of his way neatly as ever. The newly minted gear for the antique pocket watch had arrived yesterday and he had high hopes that this would be the last thing this exquisite piece would need to resume its life as a treasure, no longer relegated to the role of useless relic of a bygone era: junk.

Each layer of his dissection sat precisely in order to ensure accurate reassembly when he had finished. He had dusted meticulously before beginning and freshly cleaned tools gleamed in the soft and soothing sun-glow. With his mind truly settled into the task, Gold had felt as close to what passed for contentment in his life as he ever did.

But, inevitably, the shop door had rung, startling him into dropping the tiny gear so delicately clasped in his repurposed medical forceps. It bounced gracefully off the edge of the table to the abyss of the floor.

“Hello?” The source of his ire, the cause of a placement of a new order to the jeweler, and destroyer of his perfect morning was apparently female, and by the sniffing sounds, crying.

Just what he didn’t need. Another literal sob story over how someone couldn’t pay her rent and would he make an exception just this once?

“Yes, yes! Just a moment!” Gold snapped irritably as he searched the floor for the minuscule part. Miracle of miracles, he found it, but now he had to get down to the floor to retrieve it, if he should even bother. Undoubtedly the fall to the floor would have distorted it beyond use, but, he reasoned, he would need to send it to the jeweler for exact replication if he had any hope of salvaging the beautiful watch. Old things needed care, patience and precision, but the reward was always worth the trouble.

Precious, rare, valuable and in working order, this watch would be a prize for a worthy collector.

Even Gold had succumbed to hosting an online mercantile. And, like everything else he tended with care and diligence, it returned his investments. His world would run so smoothly if not for the messy throng of humanity gumming up the works constantly.

Getting down to the floor wasn’t so bad, he even retrieved the tiny errant part with little difficulty, placing it securely on the table, but getting back up was never other than painful.

No matter how he tried to prevent it, rebalancing always required him to put too much weight on his warped foot and the pain always lasted too long.

He put on a face to match before going out to greet the customer. He settled his jacket back into place.

“How can I help you?” he snarled before he even made it through the curtain separating the shop from his work room.

On the other side of the fabric, a blotchy and damp face looked up at him with brilliant tear-filled blue eyes, clearly taken aback by his rudeness.

The new librarian.

And this had been her first impression of him. How typical. The only non-land owning resident of this small town not his tenant and he had begun by snipping at her. It shouldn’t matter of course, she would already know all there was to know about his reputation by now and confirming everything could hardly make matters worse. Since nothing could make it better, this shouldn’t bother him. It shouldn’t.

And yet, he mellowed his expression, his tone as well, and stepped toward her extending his hand, “I’m Mr. Gold, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Her rather rumpled face didn’t smooth at all, but she did put her unfortunately damp hand in his to squeeze it briefly, “I’m Belle French, the new librarian. Your sign did say open.”

“Ah, yes, please excuse me, I was concentrating and normally when someone comes in here, well, as you are, it is one of my tenants. You can well imagine the kind of conversation that follows. I hope you will forgive my short temper. Is there something I can help you with?” Completely against his better judgement, and before he realized fully what was happening, he removed his pocket square and held it out to her. 

The royal purple, his favorite. Now it would be ruined by tears and worse.

She eyed it and then darted a look at his face before gingerly accepting. He saw her slide it’s softness between her fingers several times, caressing it, before her hand dropped awkwardly to her side, fiddling in apparent indecision. Eventually she brought it up to dab at her eyes ineffectually, perhaps trying to spare the silk?

“Thank you, uh, if that’s your existence, maybe you need this more than I do, though.” She gestured half-heartedly with the purple fabric.

“It’s quite alright, Miss French, I have plenty more.” It was his favorite, so why was having it in her hand making him practically giddy? Still waiting for her reply as to why she was standing in his shop crying, he shut his mouth and stood there, for once without a witticism to demean his conversation partner just behind his teeth.

“I was told you deal in antiques?” She said at last.

He did not retort that a librarian should be able to read the sign above the door, and the urge to do so only reached the level of a vague irritation at the delay in solving the mystery of her presence in his shop. Instead he replied almost affectionately, “I do indeed.”

Where was this going?

“Repairs, I mean, do you fix things?” She was nervous. Why?

“That is how I spend the majority of my business hours in this shop, yes. But I should warn you, not everything can be mended. Some things are beyond even my ability to repair.” His insides felt strangely warmer and he found himself peering into her eyes, leaning ever so slightly toward her over his cane. “Have you broken something, something precious to you? Is that what this is about?”

His voice was soft and gentle, a tone he hadn’t heard issuing from his throat in years.

And it had the desired effect, her lower lip protruded a little and her eyes filled again. She took a little step toward him, imploring him with her body language to help her before she said, “Very precious to me. I mean, I knew it would happen eventually, but it’s more than I can bear.”

She sniffed and blinked back her unshed tears as she looked up at him.

“Will you step into my workroom, Miss French?” Why had he just invited her into his lair with all his treasures? His precisely arranged clutter, tuned to only him? No one was allowed back there. Consultations were all done in the front of the shop.

But he had already parted the curtain for her to step through. It was too late.

His heart started thudding in his chest at her look of wonder as she took in the spectacle of what mostly amounted to a room full of broken and useless junk. Until he got around to repairing it and selling it, anyway.

She set her bag down gingerly in a clear space on his work bench and went immediately to the jig supporting the watch he had been working on. The golden light of the morning flared her face into brilliant illumination and she stared at the beautiful old watch. Her eyes roamed the line of parts on the work bench below it before fixing back on his, huge and luminous in the sunlight.

“I’m so sorry to have bothered you! Such delicate work! And so beautiful, I’d be so afraid to even attempt something like this.” The awe in her voice made him shiver.

“You like it?” he murmured, approaching the bench to stand beside her.

“Very much,” she said softly.

He pointed to the now scuffed and bent gear he had been working with, “I dropped it, you see, when you came in, and I was frustrated. Nothing to do with you and I apologize for letting it show. Did you bring the item with you?”

Why hadn’t he dealt with her in the front, like everyone else? Why, instead, was he showing her one of his treasures and murmuring soothingly to her like he cared for her? Why did he now want to get the watch working again so he could give it to her? Where on Earth had that thought come from?

Still his heart carried on beating wildly in his chest.

She said, “Yes, yes I did. If you’ll excuse me?”

He had stepped between her and her purse and was standing closer than he should have been. Embarrassment did nothing for his racing heart, but he stepped back hastily. “Yes, of course.”

He waited, all but holding his breath while she opened the purse and carefully withdrew a battered antique book in a zip-lock bag. Her lip wobbled again and a tear hit his workbench.

Before any conscious decision had been made, and without any consultation with his higher brain function, he reached for the pocket square she had set aside and so gently wiped a second tear from her cheek. He wiped a third tear and his hand, through the silk, lingered against her face just a moment longer as surprised blue eyes met his.

He blinked first and looked down at the book retracting his hand. There was an aching in his chest for her pain, he couldn’t stand it. He leaned his cane against the table and reached for her book, “May I?”

“Yes, of course. Last night the spine split in two while I was reading it and the pages are falling out-” a strangled sob cut her off for a moment, “and I can’t bear it to be in this condition. I love this book so much that I can’t just leave it on a shelf even though it’s an antique. I know I should have been more careful, read it less, but I just needed a friend last night and now I’ve broken the only true friend I have in this town. Can you fix it, Mr. Gold?”

He set the book back down on the table gently. Gold swallowed hard and his eyelids fluttered, but then he opened his arms and pulled her slowly into them. It only took a moment of uncertainty before she was holding him around the waist with her face pressed into his collar. He leaned his cheekbone against the crown of her head and whispered, “I can fix this.”

The unaccustomed shuttering of his heart and heat in his chest gave him a heady rush as did the feeling of another person in his arms. He was never the person who held others in distress, earnestly wanting to comfort them, to sooth their ills. He caused their ills, even if only by enforcing a contract. He wasn’t excessively harsh or callus in the way he went about his business, but he was consistent and since his business was that of a landlord, no friends did his evenhandedness earn him.

And while his heart skittered wildly against his rib cage, he wondered what he had just promised to fix, the book, or the sad young woman snuggled against him. Or both.

And he wanted to fix both. Inexplicably, he wanted her happiness, to see what would happen to those eyes if she were to smile at him. He could not account for what had come over him: hugging a stranger, a strange young woman, in the back of his shop and wanting to make her happy. He’d never aspired to creepy old man status and he wasn’t about to start now, so why was he still holding her?

Why was she letting him? Could she hear his frantic heart?

He had to let her go though, before he very decidedly crossed the line. Rather than stepping away, he only loosened his arms and picked his head up from where it had rested, just briefly, atop hers. She was slow to pull away, to his relief. Had she darted from him, he would have known he had gone too far.

His hands were trembling slightly, so he quickly set them one to either side of the still plastic-encased book. “Clearly this book means a great deal to you, may I ask after its provenance?”

“A family heirloom. My mother gave it to me. She’s gone now and I read it just to hear her voice in my head.” She sniffled a little and reclaimed his pocket square from where he’d abandoned it in favor of holding her. She wiped at her nose delicately, peering at him.

“Ah. I am sorry for your loss, Miss French. I will do what I can. Let’s have a look, shall we?” At her nod, he gingerly removed the old book from its plastic sheath. Her assessment had been correct, the old leather spine had split having lost any trace of suppleness to age. Pages clung by the barest threads and hardened globs of paste and even as he held it gently together, the spine cracked alarmingly in another place. The book had lost all cohesion.

Beside him the young librarian sniffled her misery. “I loved it to death.”

That took him aback and he set the book down again, “It isn’t dead, Miss French, only in need of some tender care which I will provide. I can fashion a new spine and restitch it. If you want me to approximate the original, I can, gold embossing and all, but that will take time. The green leather dye will take a little effort and it won’t truly match, but I can get close, I believe. But if you need it back sooner, I can just replace the spine and ensure many more years of good service for you. Miss French?”

She was crying openly, an uninhibited stream of fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it’s just that it feels like you’re offering to give her back to me. I know it’s just a book, but I never imagined you’d care so much. I thought maybe you’d glue it and tell me to put it on a shelf forever, not that you’d restore it for me. Not that you’d put love into it. No one said anything about you loving your work, Mr. Gold. But-” here she cut off choking on her tears.

“But what, Miss French?” He inched closer to her and extended his hand toward her again before he let it drop back to the bench. It would be inappropriate to touch her again, as if it hadn’t been the first time.

His pocket square disappeared into the pocket of her skirt with her clenching hands and she looked so heart broken when she met his eyes again, “But I am a librarian and I can not afford the beautiful restoration you’re offering. I didn’t think I could afford even the time it would take you to apply a little glue and send me on my way. Coming here was an act of desperation, me trying to tell myself I could do something when really I can’t. She’s gone and this is just a book. A broken one at that.”

Miss French reached for the book and the plastic but his hands intercepted hers, holding them firmly. He could not question his brazenness now. “It won’t be a problem, Miss French.”

Startled, she looked back up at him, hands limp in his grasp. He squeezed them softly and held on, waiting.

“I can’t owe you, Mr. Gold. I know better than that.” She made a move to pull her hands away but her comment stabbed him through the heart and for a second he held on in a quiet desperation of his own before jerking his hands back as he let go in a surrendering gesture.

He couldn’t meet her eyes. Of course she knew. For a few minutes, he had indulged in the fantasy that he could establish even the barest of human connections with her, person to person, without all that. Without the censure of the town to taint it, like the rainbow on an oil slick, something beautiful inextricably bound up with something foul.

“Mr. Gold, I’m sorry! That was the wrong thing to say. I, that was inexcusable. Please look at me.” He did. “I shouldn’t have said that, not like that. I’m not the kind of person to act on rumors, at least I thought I wasn’t. That must have hurt and I really am sorry.”

He couldn’t hear another word of it though, “Enough of that, Miss French. I will restore your book as I’ve indicated. It’s not a rumor if it’s true and there’s nothing to apologize for. I know who I am, so please don’t trouble yourself on my account. I will let you know when I’ve finished.”

He turned away to hold the curtain for her to depart. It had been nice while it lasted. And it would be nice to think on while he worked on her book.

Her impossibly blue eyes blinked rapidly at him and her mouth worked, but she brushed past him and out. He let the curtain drop and stared at the floor.

Her heels stopped clicking after only a few steps though.

“You may know who you are, Mr. Gold, but I don’t think that I do.”

He couldn’t say anything and a moment later the bell rang her out of the shop.


	2. Chapter 2

Belle slid onto her barstool at Granny’s still in a daze.

The woman herself appeared in front of her before she remembered that she normally made at least a perfunctory look at the menu before ordering a burger again. In spite of herself, she startled a little as she looked up into Granny’s patient gaze.

Before she could say anything though, Granny leaned in toward her, “What happened? You look like you just got blindsided.”

Belle’s mouth gaped open flopping about like a fish before an answer emerged, “I just insulted and offended Mr. Gold. I think I really hurt his feelings.”

Granny’s eyes bulged. Then she sniffed in derision, “You can’t hurt feelings he doesn’t have. I’d pay good money to see him insulted, though, what’d you do?”

Belle blinked in surprise. Granny was a kind woman, had been one of the first friendly faces in town to engage with her regularly. Among the first people to ease the loneliness of a new place. She didn’t seem the type to start munching popcorn over someone else’s misfortune, but her gaze hadn’t wavered and she was eagerly, hungrily, awaiting the answer.

“I refused his charity.”

Granny’s elbow slipped from where she’d been leaning on it and the stack of coffee cups shattered deafeningly on the floor a second later, but having recovered her balance, Granny leaned even closer. “First you imply he has feelings and then you claim he offered charity? We are talking about the smooth-dressing Scottish landlord with a gold tooth and a cane, right?”

“Yes?”

Granny stood up straight and shoved her glasses up a little. Given the clatter of broken dishes, several of the other patrons had turned their gazes toward them. “Did he seem ill to you? Is he dying?”

“Mr. Gold is dying? Does that mean we’ll get a break from paying rent?” A short man with a bulbous nose beside Belle ducked his face to sneeze then stared back with earnest if rheumy eyes.

“I don’t think Mr. Gold is dying, at least he didn’t mention anything like that to me. He offered to repair my book for free when I said I couldn’t pay. He looked so distraught when I refused, then he kicked me out of the shop.” Belle darted confused looks between Granny and her fellow diners.

“I guess hell froze over, what did you say to move him to charity? Your next words will be a public service announcement.” Ruby had begun listening in as she retrieved a slice of pie and plated it.

“I guess I was a bit of a mess when I went in there. I mean I was crying, but I don’t think-”

“Tears don’t work, couldn’t have been that. Damn.” Ruby took the pie away to serve it.

“Is he really as bad as all this?”

“Honey, he’s the landlord. Even if you don’t rent a house from him in this town, you probably rent your business property so all but a very select few pay him rent every month. No one gets a break, no matter how slow business is. Mr. Gold doesn’t do charity. Not at all. Ever.” With that, Granny began cleaning up the broken dishes.

“Yeah, really never, ever. He doesn’t even know that word.” The sneezer went back to his plate of food, clearly dismissing her claim as some kind of misunderstanding.

Ruby set a plate with a burger and fries in front of her a few moments later even though she had yet to order. Bewildered, she forgot to say thank-you before drenching a fry in ketchup and munching the hot salty goodness.

She had to admit, this was not the conversation she had looked for. Belle had been planning to fish for personal information about Gold she could use to tailor a special apology, one he wouldn’t just brush off as he had her first attempt. Her chest clenched around the memory of dashed hope and heartbreak on his face when she’d insulted him. He looked so much like a child who had just lost a friend for the first time.

He may have hid behind bravado and bluster a second later, but Belle had seen the betrayal, the devastation in his naked expression before a hard shell had engulfed him and he’d kicked her out of his shop.

It did not escape Belle that with her gossip dispensed, and that is what she had just done she realized, no one else had any time for her. Everyone else just carried on talking to the people they knew and had established relationships with. They didn’t need her like she needed them.

It would take more than casual conversation in the diner most days for anyone to remember her enough to include her in their community. And more still to become important enough to anyone in this town for them to need her as a friend, or more.

Belle missed her father. His most recent email had lamented a complicated immigration policy and still more delays to his moving here and opening his business. She’d been here six months already and they had planned to move here together, as a family. Apparently it was easier to get a green card if someone had hired an employee than it was to transplant a business.

Her mother was dead and her father was a world away and Belle had a gossipy diner full of people looking for ways to spite someone they didn’t like. That didn’t sit well with Belle, especially not with Mr. Gold’s stricken face haunting her thoughts.

That night, curled in her bed with a book she couldn’t focus on, Belle tugged the covers tighter around her. The remainder of her day had been spent in a state of distraction trying to reconcile the man she had met this morning with the man the town thought he was. 

His first greeting to her was rude, no doubt about it, but she had to admit that if the town abused him only half as much to his face as they did behind his back, she could understand his attitude. Then again, reputations were earned things. Yes, rumor should never be relied upon as fact, but when everyone reviled one particular person, there was usually a reason behind it. In grade school, poor hygiene could kill a child’s social prospects forever, but out in the real world, Belle had found it took more than a couple of faux pas to lose the good opinion of absolutely everyone. Could just being the one everyone owed money to be enough to cause that in a small town? Or was there more to it?

Belle dozed off into her book with the image of a desperate and pleading face with sun-struck hair and the feel of warm hands clutching hers. Her sleep confused brain mistook her covers for a pair of strong, warm arms wrapping her up, holding her close.


	3. Chapter 3

Yes, he heard the bell above the door, but he was in no mood to countenance whining today. Whomever it was would notice the non-response to their entry and leave. Eventually. He had found the proper thread and had almost decided to try a new brand of paste which looked promising when Regina yanked aside the curtain and intruded on his internet shopping spree for book repair supplies. For Miss French’s book.

He startled badly and his heart thudded uncomfortably with the sudden fear response.

“Has propriety gasped its last in this world?” He had no reason to restrain his displeasure.

“It died of a broken heart after civility passed just last year,” Regina didn’t even bother looking at him as she began rifling his trinkets. 

His cheek twitched.

“To what do I owe this flagrant intrusion into my private domain?” Her cheeky remark didn’t faze him.

Then she did look at him. “I heard you had an interesting encounter with the new librarian.”

Her fingers landed on his workbench when she turned to face him, dangerously close to the dissection of Miss French’s book, which awaited his careful surgery. She reached for the pile of loose pages and, not knowing he could still move that fast, Gold was out of his seat and seizing her wrist before he could register the pain in his foot.

“I’ll thank you to look with your eyes and not your hands if you must snoop where you’re not wanted,” he growled. His foot throbbed and he shifted his weight entirely to his other trying to ease it. “And to your point, why on earth would you care about my interactions with clientele? Last I checked, charges for being unpleasant and unlikeable don’t stick, so unless Miss French managed to find some code violation during her visit, I don’t see what concerns the mayor could possibly have with how I conduct my business.”

“So it’s true then! I thought the rumors of your hurt feelings were just a tall tale, but I heard it repeated too many times not to investigate. I’m positively intrigued, do tell.” Regina liberated her wrist from his grasp by way of flicking some imaginary lint off the front of his suit. She was standing too close, but if he moved first, he’d be giving ground.

Gold rolled his eyes, “For that to be true, I’d have to have feelings to hurt. Since we both know that’s not the case, you may be on your way.”

“Oh drop it, Avery. What happened? You still have her book, you clearly intend to fix it for her, unless she delivered it to your back room in precise order of reassembly, and you’re even more prickly than usual. They say you offered... charity.” Regina put an incredulous emphasis on the last word.

“I must congratulate you on your source, you have all the details.” He frowned for dramatic effect, “Why did you come by, again? To confirm that I remain universally reviled? Not exactly breaking news, I’d say.”

She furrowed her brow in empathy, dropping her pretense. “Look, you haven’t cared about what anyone thought of you since your wife left you, so you have to admit this is a rather startling revelation.”

“A revelation of what, precisely, Madame Mayor? Please enlighten me, because last time I checked, I suffer insults about as well as everyone else.” Tired of being poked at, Gold returned to his computer and added the new paste to his cart. He would need gold for the embossing of the spine details. He was looking forward to the artistic parts of the restoration. Already his mind had sunk into the pleasant anticipatory daydream of how it would feel to make art for Miss French.

He heard her sigh loudly and his revery popped like a soap bubble. She said, “Come for dinner next Tuesday, I don’t have time during the workday to go over the city council agenda at our usual time.”

“Very sorry, Regina, I have that evening booked solid with brooding and plotting. I couldn’t possibly make it.” He didn’t even look at her and he certainly didn’t tell her that his actual plan was sulking and wound licking with breaks to nurse his injured pride.

“Here and I thought you’d have canceled that on account of needing to address your bruised ego. My mistake. Show up.” Damn her perceptive arse anyway. 

“Go chase your pretty blond deputy and leave me be, Regina.”

She didn’t rise to the bait and stalked out of the room, then out of his shop.

His chest squeezed painfully at the memory of Miss French in his arms, of how she’d been warm and firmly holding him in return. Of the subtle scent of her shampoo mixed with her soft, human scent. Her hair had been silky against his cheek and the instinct to keep her close and comforted had overridden any good sense to let her go immediately he might have had. His unhealthy fascination with the librarian hadn’t yet resulted in moaning and some rough treatment in the privacy of his shower, but if he didn’t start behaving himself, it would. Sooner than later.

She hadn’t noticed him in the way that he had noticed her, so this was an absolutely useless pursuit. The only reasonable path open to him as far as Miss French was concerned was to attempt to open a professional and collegial dialogue behind which she might deign to hide her revulsion toward him. And let him entertain the delusion that she would be willing to let him take up space in the same building as her.

His best relationship in town was honestly with the mayor. She considered him a rival and respected him that far. Everyone else feared and despised him often in equal measure. His son would turn eighteen in a matter of weeks and after that, Gold would be able to reach out to him without his mother’s legal interference. If he could connect with his son, on any level, perhaps there would be another human being on this earth with feelings toward him warmer than animosity.

He would accept Regina’s invitation to dinner. She was a good cook and there would be banter. She knew he would come as well. He always did.

His eyes stung from staring too hard at the monitor. He wanted to see Miss French. He knew he shouldn’t, but maybe if he could prove to her that there was more to him than what the town knew- no. None of that. A professional relationship was all he could have, if she didn’t ban him from the library.

The library.

He needed a library card. Obviously.


	4. Chapter 4

Belle had been without her book for a whole week. And she hadn’t heard a peep from Mr. Gold. She didn’t want to see him out of an uncomfortable mix of fear and shame. 

The freshly departed forth-graders had worked their usual havoc on her children’s section and she was setting it back to rights. Though, if she was honest, the section never looked so right as it did full of kids lounging on the beanbag chairs or reading in the claw foot bathtub. The books they had returned this week sat neatly on her cart behind her while she re-shelved the entire section. The concept of putting books back where they go inevitably escaped at least half the children.

It was the feeling of eyes on her that made her spin around suddenly to discover she was not alone.

Mr. Gold stood with his cane planted in front of him staring at her with a peculiar expression on his face. So lost in his own head was he that she had a moment to collect her wits and consider that his expression might be something like regretful nostalgia. 

But he did notice that she was no longer absorbed in her task and shook himself a little. “Ah, Miss French.”

That was all he said, like stating his business was beyond him for the time being.

“Mr. Gold. How may I help you?” Belle’s heart had sped up and caution and wariness warred with embarrassment over her behavior at their last interaction. She didn’t know this man, his reputation made her nervous, but said reputation did not align with what he had shown her in a private moment. In that moment had been compassion, tenderness and concern. And hurt feelings of course. If she could mollify those, she probably should, even if trust was too much to extend to the man.

“I wish to acquire a library card.” His brown eyes bore into hers suggesting that a library card was not the reason for his visit. She saw that he expected further rebuke from her. 

“Certainly, Mr. Gold. What would you like to check out?” Belle put the book she had in her hands back on the cart and swept her hand in a welcoming gesture. “I think the children may have left one Garfield comic, if that tempts you.”

She tried out a tentative smile on him.

To her relief, the corner of his mouth flicked up a tiny bit before he said, “I thank you for the recommendation, Miss French, but just the card for today, thank you.”

That brought her up short and she took a step toward him.

“Forgive me, Mr. Gold, but if you didn’t have something you intended to borrow, why the card? The library’s been open six months.” She trailed off as her suspicion of him overrode everything else.

“I should think it would be obvious. In case I need to borrow something in the future. That is the purpose of the card, is it not?”

She knew she’d earned the defensive hostility she got, but if he couldn’t come up with a more plausible explanation rather than dodging her, that was suspicious. Answers such as, “I’ve been busy, you know how it is,” weren’t particularly difficult to stuff into a gap in conversation- a polite lie covering the real answer of, “I’ve been too lazy,” or “Your pathetic library probably doesn’t have what I need anyway.”

His snide tone in combination with his stiffening shoulders triggered her own defensiveness and she murmured, “And if you did borrow something, would you return it?”

Belle watched with horror as he flinched, as if she’d hit him. She had just done more damage with careless words instead of using this opportunity to skillfully explore this complicated man, to suss him out, to sort out his inconsistencies. Way to blow it.

“Are you refusing me?” He growled at her, hard eyes having quickly replaced the hurt ones from a moment ago.

But he had said exactly the wrong thing himself. Now Belle feared for her book, the one in his care, tender or possibly not. Her eyes narrowed and she asked flatly, “Do you return what doesn’t belong to you?”

“Miss French.” He took a step toward her with his face in hard lines and angles. “I do not know what cause I have given you to believe I do not keep my word, but I find it curious that if I am the villain you have cast me to be, you’ve not considered that no one does business with a villain who doesn’t keep his bargains. Do you imagine Mayor Mills to be such a weak leader as to lack the intestinal fortitude to remove a material threat to her citizenry? Or Sheriff Humbert? Do you think him so incompetent that were I a criminal of some sort, he would not have dispensed with me by now? My very livelihood depends on the honoring of contracts and as you may have heard, I’ve done well for myself in that regard.”

Though she had given no ground, Belle had pulled her arms in tight to her body, clenching her wrist with a hand in front of her. He had left sufficient distance between them for propriety, but only just, and his blazing brown eyes filled her vision. If he had not once held her in his arms to sooth her, she might well have been afraid of him. A lion with a gold tooth and flashing eyes. 

But Belle did have that memory, and the lingering scent of his aftershave in the air and the softness of his tie against her cheek. She still had his handkerchief. Belle blinked, yes, in the pocket of her skirt which lay in the pile of unwashed clothes upstairs awaiting her attention. Soft and purple and she had forgotten about it entirely.

So, through that lens, Belle saw a man responding to a grievous insult. She’d hurt him. Again. And so accustomed to being roughly trodden upon was he, that he lashed out in return as a matter of course.

Belle licked her lips and sighed. She didn’t know what to say to him. Were she a better, more confident person, she’d apologize. It shouldn’t be hard, but it was. And she didn’t trust him. He had her most prized possession and no bond of money to assure its safe return. She owed him. The trap was neatly laid and Belle was unable to offer payment of any sort both for her own quite real lack of finances and for the fact that to do so now would only cause further insult. This paralyzed her and left her book at his mercy.

She would not beg, though. All she had wanted was for him to comfort her, to assure her that he would return her book in at least the condition it was in when she left it with him. But her clumsiness had cost her another appearance of the tender man who had held her. Probably forever.

At last, after having studied the deep bloody red of his tie for so long that he had begun to shift his weight, Belle looked up at him and said, “Right this way, Mr. Gold.”

But his eyes. Belle blinked and then quickly moved past him toward her desk. His eyes. Had she imagined it? He had been the one on the edge of yelling at her for insulting him, but he looked as regretful of this whole mess as she felt, as anxious and still, yes still, hurt. She knew better than to think she could read his thoughts through the creases in his skin, and yet.

His cane tapped on the floor behind her so she knew he was following. She had to sort this out somehow. Belle knew she had just placed herself at odds with probably the most powerful person, next to her boss the mayor, in town. Sooner or later that would bite her. Eventually she would need something from him and her bargaining position had not improved with this interaction. She needed to learn how to keep her mouth shut. A politician she was not.

“If you’d just fill this out for me, please.” Belle slid the form and a pen across the desk to him, grateful now to have more space between them.

He took up the pen and began to fill the form with his neat handwriting. He had wedged his cane between his body and the desk so he could steady the paper with one hand and write with the other. Greying brown hair curtained his face as he bent to his task and it looked soft. His fingernails were tidy and his hands looked like they received lotion regularly. A black overcoat hid most of his equally black suit, but she could still make out the elegant textured fabric of it. It seemed possible that the cost of his attire today could equal two or three months of her salary.

Belle resisted the instinct to feel intimidated by his outward display of wealth, his well groomed and well heeled appearance. She had her own sense of style and she knew she didn’t make a habit of offending mirrors any more than he did. Still, it was impossible not to be impressed by fine cloth and fine taste. Belle liked careful and precise things, she was a librarian after all.

Of course he caught her staring when he finished the form and slipped it back across the desk to her. The eyes that met and held hers weren’t full of anger and spite, which she would have deserved, but instead he looked resigned, even sad, just at the edges. Belle felt sad too, and that mortifying dread of having screwed up again.

She swallowed and accepted the form. It didn’t take many clicks before she could start entering his information. Yes, she could have given him his card and done this later, but she wanted him to wait. Or she didn’t want him to leave, not yet.

“Avery,” she whispered to herself as she read the name and typed it simultaneously. She hadn’t known his name before now.

“Please don’t,” he murmured.

“What?” Belle looked up, confused.

“My name. Please. Just, I prefer Gold.” There was vulnerability in his voice and his eyes implored her. 

He’d just trusted her with something.

For a moment, Belle didn’t say anything just searched his face for answers she didn’t find and didn’t have the nerve to ask for. The man she had met in his shop a week ago was there in his expression, asking her for something but she couldn’t figure out what.

“Of course, Mr. Gold,” she whispered. He visibly relaxed and looked away first. Though her agreement seemed to relieve him, he reminded her of a child she’d seen in a grocery store once, a child expecting a slap.

Belle scanned in the bar code and extended the new card to him. He took hold of it even, but she held on, something occurring to her. “I have just finalized our relationship with the public library system of Maine, you know. So if, if there is something we don’t have that you need, an inter-library loan is always a possibility. Uh, please do sign the back.”

She let go and he took the card, flipped it over, and signed A. Gold, elegantly of course.

He put the card in his wallet, a slim leather affair with few notes and definitely no old receipts or musty business cards, before murmuring, “Thank you, Miss French, I appreciate that.”

“Of course,” Belle mumbled as he turned away from her. His head turned almost back to her once, then he left the building.

A nervous breath she’d been holding escaped her and Belle stared up at the ceiling letting her ahead hang back. What a disaster. She was no closer to her book and had made things worse with Mr. Gold. Avery. But she couldn’t call him that. She’d never heard anyone refer to him by his given name, come to think of it. He was Mr. Gold to everyone.

But Belle was pretty sure he’d been Avery when he’d held her in the back room of his shop.


	5. Chapter 5

Gold locked himself in the bathroom behind his shop. He didn’t have to go, but he lowered his trousers and sat anyway. Whether habit, or desperation to evacuate the last twenty minutes of his life down the shitter, he couldn’t say.

An unmitigated clusterfuck. That was the best he could say for his attempt to bridge the gap between himself and Miss French. The whole point of the endeavor was to reassure her that he wasn’t the monster everyone, including himself, considered him to be.

Of course, going there to lie to her because he couldn’t stand himself anymore was pathetic by any measure. He felt like a child. A sulky child. Holding her in his arms, having her in his private world for those few minutes had had more of an impact on him that he realized. Regina was right, naturally, he hadn’t given a second thought to what others thought of him since Maria took Bradley away from him. He had had no reason at all to want closeness with anyone and so the town’s coldness toward him had been irrelevant and he had had no motivation to improve his standing with anyone at all. Until now.

And what had he done? In response to her justified uneasiness around him, he had stormed and raged about his poor bruised ego. Again. Instead of owning up to what he had made of himself, he acted like she’d driven a spoon into his guts and stirred.

Yes. Mr. Gold was hiding in his bathroom hunched over his knees and shaking. He could not deny what was happening in the present even if it made no sense at all. Why should he care if one more person in this world looked at his behavior and thought him a rather sorry excuse for a human being? The only person who mattered to him was long gone and probably only remembered him with bitterness, if at all.

His birthday was in several weeks away and the second Bradley turned eighteen, Maria couldn’t legally prevent his reaching out anymore. 

She had run a fine tar and feather campaign on him ten years ago. The courtroom had been crammed full of everyone who had ever defaulted on their loans, been late on the rent, been evicted or had their collateral repossessed. One after another, Maria’s lawyer had asked them for a character assessment of the infamous Mr. Gold and whether they thought him a fit parent for an eight year old. The judge hadn’t even waited to hear them all before deciding enough was enough and awarding Maria everything she wanted: child support and full custody. She had taken his money around the world and as far as he knew, hired a nanny to raise Bradley. When he received no response at all to letters or phone calls or gifts, his private investigator informed him that Maria was screening his every attempt to contact Bradley.

Maybe that was what this was about. He was projecting his failure with Miss French, someone he didn’t know and didn’t need for anything, onto his future efforts with his son. If he couldn’t make a reasonable impression on a complete stranger, what chance did he have with a resentful son who hadn’t seen or heard from his father in ten years?

Tears made soft splatting noises on the floor. Miss French was indeed irrelevant, except that she’d shown him quite clearly what he’d become and how likely it was that he would be able to become anyone his son would want.

But he didn’t really have time for this right now. He needed to be at Regina’s in two hours and he needed to finish up business for the day. The package with the new book binding supplies had arrived and he needed to check them to ensure they were a match for the task. Shopping online was always a risky endeavor.

He cleaned his face and hands of the evidence of his distress and headed straight for the shipping box in question. Inside he found durable yet soft leather, the dye he would need, surprisingly close in hue to the original, and his eyes lingered on the gold meant for the eventual embossing.

The magnetic pull of the project erased thoughts of other work before the end of the day and he eagerly began on Miss French’s book.

And he remained utterly engrossed for the next two hours. In fact it was the slanting light that notified him he was now late.

With both regret and irritation he put down the stencil he had been creating of the original spine artwork and stretched his cramping leg and back. The work had provided the solace he’d hoped for, but now he had to deal with Regina who expected her dinner guests to be on time even if they had indicated they weren’t going to show up at all.

He had never managed to turn her down successfully, though he’d tried. Now he couldn’t go home even to freshen up, but at least the drive across town was a short one.

And so he arrived at six-fifteen for a six o’clock dinner.

Regina opened the door with disapproving eyebrows and a scowling mouth, “I didn’t think you’d stand me up, what kept you?”

“I do have work to do, Regina, though it may surprise you to hear it. There’s a restoration I couldn’t simply put down in the middle.” That was mostly a lie but he didn’t care, there were stages in book restoration that had to be completed once begun even if what he had happened to be doing wasn’t one of them. “I doubt you were that eager to see me, in any case.”

“True enough, it wouldn’t happen to be that charity work that hurt your feelings, would it?” She led him in through the foyer.

“Naturally, aye. I want to finish the project in good time lest the lovely Miss French think I have stolen her book.” His words echoed in the tall space as they passed the curving stairway before Regina took his coat for the hall closet. “It’s engaging work and the original is beautiful. You know how I like beautiful things.”

Regina positively smirked. “I certainly do, why don’t you have a seat and I’ll bring dinner through?”

Gold stepped through into the dining room and stopped dead.

Miss Belle French was staring up at him from his usual place and by her expression she had heard every word. Regina had set him up.

Just when he thought this day couldn’t get any worse.

Her mouth parted as if she was trying to find something to say and he was doing the same. Just standing there staring at her like a thief caught in the act. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt heat rising to his face. He had almost worked out what he would say when Regina breezed back in with their meal.

“I took the liberty of inviting Miss French, since we’ll be discussing her requisition request for the new special collection at the meeting. You don’t mind, do you Avery?”

Gold saw Miss French’s eyes widen at the use of his name and he flinched before he could stop himself. “Of course not, Regina, why would I?”

He seated himself as an excuse not to look at either woman for a moment. From Miss French’s expression, she had not known to expect him anymore than he had known to expect her. Regina was having fun at his expense. And Miss French’s.

It was the latter that made him angry. Miss French was her employee and should never be her sport. That Regina had scored a point on him was to be congratulated, later when this matter was safely settled and was worthy of a wry chuckle over whiskey, but causing Miss French to squirm for no reason but the mayor’s amusement when Miss French should have been Regina’s protege was unconscionable, even to him.

And so, when Regina returned from a second trip to the kitchen for the remaining dishes, he stated, “However, Regina, I believe it is Miss French who should have been consulted on whether or not she wished to spend a meal with me. Given my reputation.”

“I’ll be here the whole time, honestly Avery, do you think I’d let you eat my employee for dinner?” 

Miss French choked and Gold hastily pushed the glass of water Regina had just poured for himself across to her. “Are you alright, Miss French?”

“Quite, thank you,” she sputtered and accepted the water.

Regina had a predatory grin on her face as she replaced his water glass with her own.

A delicious scent wafted up from a French cassoulet when Regina opened the lid and began dishing up. She never did disappoint in the kitchen.

Gathering his courage, Gold said, “Miss French, you will be pleased to know that the supplies I ordered for your book arrived today and I have been able to make a credible start on the restoration.”

With a final clearing of her throat, she croaked, “That’s wonderful news, Mr. Gold.”

Hearing her call him Gold made something tight inside release and he gave her a tentative smile. 

“We may as well dive right in then,” Regina said and took up a spoonful. With it halfway to her mouth she continued, “Getting right to it, the collection of antique books needs funding, you’ll handle that, won’t you Avery?”

Gold was certain she was doing that to needle him. She had refused to call him Mr. Gold in any informal setting since she’d learned his name. A power play on her part which she was now using against Miss French while making him look even more of an arse than he already did. Perfect. 

Imagining Regina was setting him up further, daring him to refuse and cement Miss French’s opinion of him as a miser, he said, “Of course I will.”

With that bland statement he filled his own spoon and subsequently his mouth to delay his having to say anything more immediately.

Silver clattered on porcelain from Miss French’s place at the table and her voice trembled a little as she asked, “And what does that mean? Precisely?”

Around some food, Regina said baldly, “Means he’ll pay for it.”

He couldn’t not look up with Miss French staring open mouthed at him, then to Regina, then back at him. 

Belle said, “What?”

Gold sighed and stirred his food with his spoon, “Miss French, your funding problem has been solved.”

She was blinking rapidly and her face was paler than he thought it should have been. He frowned in confusion and met her eyes, waiting.

After listening to Regina chew for too long, Miss French said very softly, “Why would you do that, Mr. Gold?”

Regina pointedly took another mouthful forcing him to answer. “Because Regina knows which kinds of projects interest me.”

“And I’ll owe him a similar such favor in the future. Honestly, most of the town’s business is done in settings like this one. Now eat up, it’ll get cold.” Regina suited her own words.

Gold watched Miss French go from pale to paler with a queasy expression on her face. However, he decided to take the out Regina had provided to enjoy at least some part of the evening. The food really was excellent.

Unfortunately, the quiet only lasted until Regina had taken the edge off her own appetite. “Infrastructure assessments are due this meeting and I haven’t received your comments on next year’s budget, Avery, too busy with your new project?”

She reminded him of a falcon with her eyes on him in that way. She could have her fun now, but she also knew better than to push him too hard.

“We both know those aren’t expected until next week, Regina. And my time management skills have never been an issue in the past, is there a particular reason for concern now? Some interest of yours upon which you wish my attention?” He did enjoy her treatment of the green beans, so he added, “Did you do the green beans in wine this time? Well balanced, I find, against the cassoulet.”

“Why thank you, I did. The only reason I bring it up is your erratic behavior of late. If you need resources, you should ask.” If that comment had been in private it might not have been a barb, but Regina was fishing quite determinedly this evening and he had had enough of it.

“Lovely meal, Regina. Nice to see you again, Miss French. Pity I can’t stay longer.” He rose and took his plate to the kitchen.

Predictably, Regina followed.

“Avery! For shame, what has gotten into you?” Regina hissed, but loudly enough to carry he was certain.

“The better question is what has gotten into you and why on earth would you drag your employee through such a ridiculous performance?” Gold seethed under his breath, not wanting to be overheard.

“I’m concerned about you.” Regina said flatly and at full voice ensuring her side of the conversation would reach its intended audience at least. “You didn’t even try to negotiate!”

“There was no need. And maybe I’m not interested in wasting my time on trivialities.” Gold gave up trying to avoid the ears in the next room.

“Your version of trivial and mine differ rather significantly. You’re practically cracking up and you think I don’t notice? I need you on the straight and narrow. I’ve got a town to run and whether I like it or not, you’re practically bedrock around here. I am not a fan of earthquakes.” No effort at all to keep her voice down.

“Your precious town will be just fine. What isn’t just fine is you broadcasting your suppositions about my mental health to gossips!” He belatedly remembered that said gossip could hear him perfectly. And he didn’t really want her to know he thought of her that way. Mostly because he didn’t think of her that way. No, he thought of her in his arms and was desperately trying to piece together another instance where that might be repeated. Of course he and done little but shoot himself in the good foot all day as far as that was concerned.

“So I’m wrong then? Everything is fine?”

“If you were genuinely concerned for me, you’d have asked that in private. As such, I’ve no inclination to dignify your inquiry with a response. Good evening, Regina.” He pushed past her and back into the dining room.

“Miss French, please excuse me and I hope you won’t allow tiresome town rivalries to spoil your dinner. As I am certain your evening will be improved by my absence, I bid you goodnight.” He ducked his head to her and left in search of his coat via the other entry into the foyer.

Miss French had probably been about to say something with her mouth half open and large concerned eyes fixed on him, but he couldn’t stay here another moment.

Safely ensconced in an armchair at home, Gold stared into the flames of the fire he’d built not because it was really cold enough yet, but because the fire would keep him company.

Regina was way out of line. Even if she was right. What had she been thinking? He knew Regina suspected his interest in the librarian from her rather pointed visit to his shop, but using town politics to interfere with his personal life was beyond the pale, even for her.

It was cruel.

She knew very well he had no one in his life. Inviting him over to rub salt in that fact in front of the only person in a decade with whom he might have developed remotely civil relations was nearly sociopathic. They had been rivals since before she got elected, but this was a low blow.

He stared until the fire burned down.


	6. Chapter 6

“Well, that’s Avery for you, pretends he has no feelings until you prick one of them.” Regina sat back down and smiled apologetically at Belle.

“With all due respect, Regina, I don’t pretend to understand what just happened here, but is he your ex?”

Of all the possible reactions to her question, Belle did not expect great guffaws of laughter, peel after peel. Regina’s eyes watered.

“Is that what it looked like to you? Oh, when he’s in a less pissy mood he’s going to laugh too. No, to answer your question, but we’ve known each other such a long time, he was a bit of a mentor to me after my mother died.” She snorted out another chuckle, “He did have a brief tryst with my mother though. Maybe that’s why it’s so funny you say that.”

“Is there something wrong, I mean, something bothering him?” Belle wasn’t sure if Regina would even tell her if she knew, but it seemed worth it to ask.

“Most certainly.” Regina gave her a secretive smile, “But you heard how successful I was at getting it out of him. He’s way past his usual surly disdain for humans and life in general.”

Why on earth were the mayor’s eyes twinkling at her? Belle could tell she was missing the great, big, flashing neon sign. Regina knew something and she wasn’t going to tell. Belle was getting more disturbed by the moment. If Mr. Gold was cracking up, as Regina had said, where did that leave Regina herself?

Belle took a bite of her now colder than optimal dinner to avoid saying anything.

“What about you? I haven’t seen you with anyone, did you leave a string of broken hearts in Australia?” Belle looked up at Regina, was that a hint? Did she think Mr. Gold’s current discomfort was a broken heart? Or was she just referring to Belle’s implying that Regina and Gold had once been an item?

“Oh, no. Or at least none that weren’t long mended by the time I left. I didn’t flee the country to get away from a vicious ex problem or something so dramatic as that. I just needed to see the world a bit, but really I needed a job I could love.” Belle thought that was a reasonable thing to say to a boss. And it was the truth, most of it, so that was an added bonus.

“Are you settling in ok here though? I know the pickings are slim around here. Small towns are simultaneously cozy and claustrophobic.” Regina scraped out her bowl upon finishing her portion.

Belle sensed she was now the target of Regina’s fishing expedition. Great. But why? She had absolutely nothing interesting to say on the subject.

“I haven’t really worried about that and no one’s approached me. And that’s fine, really. I enjoy meeting the patrons when they come into the library, especially the kids. They’re really cute. I can’t wait to see my father though. I do miss him.” Belle thought all of that was fairly non-committal, innocuous enough to share with one’s employer.

“Your father is coming to visit? That’s wonderful, I’d love to meet him.” Regina was leaning her head on her interlaced fingers and watching Belle with a calm and open expression.

Belle hated feeling so suspicious of her boss, but this lady had made a career of politics and Belle knew she was fish-food when it came to scheming and plotting.

“Actually he’s trying to move here, to immigrate and open his flower shop here in Storybrooke. But he said there’s been some kind of trouble with the paperwork and it’s taking longer than he planned.” Belle deliberately set about trying to finish her own dinner to avoid continuing to be the subject of her boss’s curiosity.

“I’m sorry to hear that. If I can help at all, do let me know. I don’t know what the trouble is, but rumor has it that I have some sway in this town. You never know when that might come in handy.” She smirked conspiratorially at Belle who had her mouth full on purpose. “I’ll dish up dessert.”

Grateful for the reprieve, Belle finished her quite excellent meal in peace while deciding never to ask the mayor for anything personal if she could help it. It seemed Regina traded on personal business as much as she did on civics.

Dessert was a delicious and rich chocolate mousse with candied strawberries, cherries and blueberries over a wafer of moist cake.

After several bites, being unable to help herself, she finally said, “Regina, this is inspired!”

“Why, thank you. It’s Avery’s favorite. I made it to cheer him up, but he didn’t make it through to the dessert round. His loss.” Regina smiled like she had anticipated that outcome.

Which cued a protective streak in Belle, merited or not. “If you have a container I could borrow, I’d be happy to take it to him tomorrow. It might make him feel better.”

Regina’s eyes lit up and her whole body turned toward Belle, “You’d do that for him?”

Feeling like she’d just stepped on a steel trap, she blinked and then said, “Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

She could visit her book and if Mr. Gold really did need cheering up, maybe she could at least return some of what she owed him by way of a chocolate apology for hurting his feelings. She felt her debts to him mounting by the minute and it felt desperately important to settle those accounts as soon as possible.

“You’d be the only person in Storybrooke willing to do so.” 

If this woman didn’t sign her paycheck, Belle would have fled the house, the town and probably the state. But then she rallied and straightened her spine. “No, not the only person, you made it for him after all.”

“True, Belle, true. But you’re nice enough to take it to him after his temper tantrum. I am not.”

There were a few moments of quiet while both women focused fully on their chocolate. A perfect mix of textures and flavors, Belle had no idea how the mayor kept her figure as she did if she could cook like this. Regardless, with her mouth full of confection, the mayor wasn’t talking, which gave Belle hope of escaping without further snares.

“I should tell you, Belle, of a city function I intend to hold in the library this year.”

Belle needed to figure out how to stop thinking because clearly Regina could sense her thoughts and decide exactly when to strike. “Uh,” Belle choked on her food and had to take a sip of water before continuing, “a city function?”

“Yes, the Yule Ball. We’ll dress up the basement to preserve your careful work upstairs, but every year the City of Storybrooke celebrates the return of the light by hosting a formal dance for its citizenry. It’s quite a to-do.” Regina was grinning with gleaming eyes.

“That sounds wonderful, but I’m afraid the basement is rather dank in it’s current state. Are you certain about holding such a glamorous event there?” Belle wasn’t being argumentative, she was simply reminding the Mayor that her basement was full of cobwebs, rats and puddles of storm water. It was a genuine mess.

“You’re quite right about that, but the city needs meeting space and we have outgrown City Hall. I’ll be sending the plans to Mr. Gold tomorrow to rehabilitate the space. He often supplies competitive bids from his contractors. It’ll be charming and classy by mid December I’m sure.” Regina popped a blueberry into her mouth having won a merry chase around her plate with the rolling fruit.

“Wow. I’m certain that’ll be wonderful for what you have in mind. Will I need to be there?” Belle knew she shouldn’t have asked. Her boss had just told her she was going to a swanky party as an active member of the city government, but Belle wanted an out. She couldn’t think of a worse way to spend the solstice than standing in a corner with no one to talk to while her boss and Mr. Gold traded business opportunities, and/or veiled threats, the entire evening.

Maybe it was time to take up a pagan religion or three. Religious exemption was probably the only way she could get out of that pit of vipers.

“Of course! But where are my manners? You’re new to the area and Storybrooke doesn’t offer suitable attire. When I go to Boston for my dress, you can come along. It’ll be fun, just us girls and an endless sea of taffeta and silk.” To her surprise, Regina’s smile looked genuine, as if this prospect were actually a fun ladies’ shopping adventure to her as opposed to yet another political fishing expedition.

Ignoring the fact that she certainly could not afford a dress from any such shop, Belle swallowed an insufficiently chewed bite before she faked her very best smile and agreed to lose at least a month’s salary on a dress.

What the hell was she going to do about this town? 

Belle gasped a deep lungful of cool evening air the second she escaped Regina’s house with a small container of the dessert for Mr. Gold. How she was going to manage to refuse any such future ambush she didn’t know but she might be about to start suffering an inconvenient bi-weekly stomach-flu.

The evening had been terrifying, with a side of odd, and coated in awkward sauce. The food had been restaurant quality, of the caliber she couldn’t afford, no doubt, but Belle was leaving her boss’s house unsettled enough to wonder if she needed to find a new job sooner than later.

She thought that canceling the requisition request for a rare books collection would be a place to start. Regina had just set her up to owe Mr. Gold. Regina had just embedded her in town business by forcing her to host a huge shindig and was abducting her on a shopping spree to boot. Regina wanted to know about her love life. Regina offered to pull strings for her father. Belle knew exactly from which row on the chessboard she originated: that of pawn.

As she walked to her car, Belle got angry. She had no interest in such games. All she wanted was to help the community and run the best library she could. To be a resource, a place of refuge and delight for everyone. They had no right to start batting her about between them like a ball of string. Or a mouse between a hawk and a lion.

No. No she wasn’t playing. They could go at each other all they liked, but Belle French wasn’t going to roll around in the dirt with them.

Just how she meant to extricate herself remained to be seen, but she would. Somehow.


	7. Chapter 7

The motion of needle and thread moving carefully through the pages of Miss French’s book had lulled him into peacefulness though outside, the fall rains had begun in earnest. Gold was taking his time. He paid strict attention to how the paper felt in is adept fingers, to the tension on the thread, to the perfect alignment of each completed stitch. This would be a master class in restoration. He wanted it to be perfect for her. To be art for her.

His humiliation at Regina’s hands last night had motivated him to prove to Miss French that not only was he not under the mayor’s thumb, but that she could trust him with her book. Regina had all but painted him a midlife crisis and he had unknowingly admitted to Miss French to have found her comments hurtful. As if he hadn’t been behaving that way enough in front of her all on his own, he reproached himself.

Regina was playing at something beyond teasing him about his perceived interest in Miss French, and usually Gold could see her coming a mile off, but not this time. She had seen his change in behavior toward the librarian for exactly what it was, but what use to the mayor were the tender feelings of a pathetic and hopeless middle-aged man? Gold knew the best he could hope for was a professional politeness between acquaintances as far as Miss French was concerned. And if he knew it, Regina knew it too.

What could she possibly have to gain by making him look a fool over something like this? 

The town wouldn’t buy it even were she to advertise that he’d gone soft on a billboard overlooking Main street.

He hadn’t gone soft, so that was moot anyway.

Miss French had no real power in this town, let alone friends, and trying to make him look weak and disorganized wouldn’t hold water anyway. He was neither. Regina wanted something and he didn’t know what.

The worst part of the evening had been his own fault. He had called Miss French a gossip in front of her, well, out of the line of sight but still within hearing. Whatever Regina wanted, he couldn’t stop her from pursuing it, but he could get a hold of himself and avoid doing the job for her. He needed to establish some kind of reasonable relations with Miss French sooner than later.

But he didn’t want to rush this restoration, because he was enjoying it too much.

And also because once it was over, he would have no further excuses for future interactions with Miss French. Nothing to look forward to.

Loneliness intruded on his work with the sound of the rain on the roof.

The shop bell jingled when the door opened.

He sighed, at least he had reached a natural pausing point this time.

On the other side of the curtain, to his surprise, stood a rain moistened Miss French with a small plastic container in her hands.

He smiled straight from the heart. She was looking at him with uncertain but determined eyes and all he could think about was soothing her however he could. He wanted her to smile at him, to want to see him as much as he did her.

“Miss French-”

“Mr. Gold-”

They both spoke at the same time.

Gold gave her a courteous little half bow and extended a hand for her to precede him. He took the opportunity to meet her in the middle of his shop.

“Good morning,” she said with an uncertain little half smile, “If Regina is to be believed, you’re feeling troubled and so I wanted to bring you your dessert since you were unable to stay for it last night.”

Gold’s eyes widened and his eyebrows lifted on their own accord. “I have never been so pleased to have Regina speculating about my state of mind as I am right now.” He took the proffered container from her, widening his smile. “Since I know she would never have thought to bring this to me, I can only conclude this kind gesture is yours.”

What a wonderful development. He could perhaps find a way to apologize for calling her a gossip. He could show her his progress on her book. He could ask her to stay for tea-

“I may have been the one to not want you to miss out on this, but she is the one who made it for you in the first place.” Her voice was wry to begin, but she finished shyly. “Is everything alright, Mr. Gold?”

Charmed, he swapped the container to his cane hand to stroke her elbow. He could drown in those eyes, “I assure you, it is.” Though soft, the thin fabric of her cardigan was decidedly damp and he felt her tremble faintly. “But you are cold with the rain, will you take tea to warm up?”

Her eyes hadn’t left his all the while and he left his hand where it was, thumb tracing over the bone of her elbow gently. Maybe he shouldn’t be touching her, but she could step away at any time.

“I will, thank you.” Her voice was quiet, unsure but she gave him a little smile.

“Wonderful,” he, not relinquishing her elbow, stepped aside and then gestured with his cane to the back room were he really needed to stop taking customers. Especially ones with enchanting eyes who were bringing him chocolate. “I’m pleased you had an excuse to drop by in any case, I would love to show you my progress on the restoration.”

Just before stepping through the curtain ahead of him, she turned to give him a small, seemingly optimistic smile. “I’d love that.”

He reached over her head to part the curtain for her and got a whiff of skin-warmed shampoo. At this intimacy, his middle tightened and warmed pleasantly. He imagined walking beside her with a hand at the small of her back. Soft sweater fuzz would brush his finger tips with each step and they would be walking close to one another, on their way to Marco’s for a quiet dinner away from the noise of Granny’s-

“-so far along! I never imagined you’d be so thorough. I really don’t know how to repay you for this.”

And the pleasant fantasy shattered like he’d been punched in the guts. She was looking at him but he couldn’t help wincing and closing his eyes for just a moment. He really should know better than to get so hopelessly ahead of reality. Not even ahead of reality, beside it, adjacent to it. Reality was a Miss French who thought of him in terms of transactions, like everyone else.

But, like any man, he wanted to make every effort toward the future he wanted, “As I have already indicated, you owe me nothing. But taking tea with me would be welcome, if you can stand it.”

Of all things, she looked guilty. Then she gave him a furtive smile and said, “I would enjoy that, if you can spare the time.”

He blinked, licked dry lips and gave her a tremulous smile of his own. At least he could turn his back on her to prepare the tea things. “I’ve a lovely vanilla rooibus, if that suits?”

“Another rooibus drinker?!” She sounded excited, so he chanced a look over his shoulder. A real smile awaited him. The one he’d been wanting.

He dropped the cup he was holding and it hit the floor with a telling little clink.

“Oh no!” She rushed forward and scooped up the teacup. “It’s just chipped, I’ll drink out of this one. What a shame about such a beautiful set.”

“It’s no matter, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine Mr. Gold, see, it has character now. It was destined to be my cup.” Miss French blushed at her own words and he had no idea why. Their finger tips brushed when she returned the cup to him.

“As you wish. I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours.” Gold murmured before turning his attention back to preparing tea.

“Who knew Mr. Darcy is Scottish!” He couldn’t have heard her right. She could not possibly have just muttered that under her breath. 

“I’m sorry, what was that, Miss French?”

At full voice she responded after a beat, “I hope you’ll show that teacup mercy and not discard it as rubbish. It’s still so lovely.”

“I’m certain I couldn’t sell it now, so beyond pleasing you, it holds little value.” With the kettle warming he had no further reason to fuss with the tea set-up. He turned to face her, feeling shy, “But maybe you would want to save it from the dust bin?”

Her eyes locked with his and his chest tightened as her mouth fell open a little.

“Uh, I might like that. But would you let me pay you at least something for it?”

His jaw clenched and he whirled back around to face away from her, gripping the counter in frustration. Gold said nothing. The chocolate dessert sat just a few inches from his fingertips in its tacky Tupperware. Wanting to prove a point, he pulled a pair of saucers from the stack of tea dishes and split the treat between them.

With his cane leaning against the counter, he faced Belle again a plate in either hand, he all but growled, “Will you refuse this too?”

Belle closed trembling eyelids and chewed her lip. Finally, voice in a rasping squeak, “No, and that wasn’t what I meant, but I keep saying the wrong thing.”

“No you won’t let me share this with you or no you’ll accept, because I just can’t tell.” It came out more harshly than he intended and she flinched.

“I deserved that,” she said slowly. “I’d appreciate sharing with you, Mr. Gold, my apologies for the confusion.”

With his ego somewhat mollified, he let out the breath he had been holding. “Good, that’s good.”

He slid her plate across the work bench to her, “Just a moment and I’ll fetch some cutlery.”

He purposefully went to retrieve a sterling silver set from the front room just to have a moment to breathe. Growling and snapping like a pissed off yellow-jacket would not endear the lady to him. Not that the winged arseholes could growl or snap, but he was flustered. And hot under the collar. He needed to get ahold of himself. There was no call nor reason for allowing her to get under his skin that way. He most certainly was making only steps away from his desire to have a professional relationship with her.

The kettle whistled, the modern contraptions were much too fast for decency, and he made his way back to find her caressing the as yet uncut leather for the new spine of her book.

He ignored her just long enough to stop the shrieking of boiling water before putting on a mild and hopeful tone. “What do you think? Is it a close enough match?”

He thought the dye job was admirable.

She whispered, “I think it’s incredible. Is book restoration something you particularly enjoy, Mr. Gold?”

He was telling the truth before realizing that another avenue might have advanced his cause better. “It is, but books are only one of many kinds of antiques I enjoy restoring. It’s more the process of restoration that I find intriguing than any one area of interest.”

“Oh.” Of course she was disappointed by that answer, she was a librarian. “I just thought that maybe you had a soft place in your heart for old books, because,” she swallowed and sighed, “because you so readily agreed to fund my requisition.”

Trapped. And he had an inkling that this trap was designed by one Regina Mills. No, Belle, I funded that project for you, not out of love for rotting leather and mouldering paper, he thought. 

“I didn’t agree to furnish you with a collection of books, doubtless in need of repair, to extort my fees from the city budget, if that’s what you’re thinking.” At least that much was true.

But he regretted his choice in deflection the second he saw her shoulders sag. She muttered, “No, I didn’t think you did.”

But she didn’t elaborate.

“Belle,” his voice dropped in register when he hummed her name, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. Perhaps we could just have tea together and not discuss business?”

For a moment he couldn’t figure out why her mouth had dropped open and her lip quivered. Then he heard himself. 

Her name. He’d said her name. He felt himself flush with mortification and he screwed his eyes shut.

“I’m so sorry, Miss French, I have been inexcusably presumptuous. Please forgive me, I shouldn’t have asked after tea, or kept you so long. I’ve never been known for my manners-”

“Mr. Gold.” A hand on his arm made him look up into shining blue eyes, much closer than he was prepared for. “It’s ok to call me Belle. I’d prefer it, actually. And I would like some tea.”

He couldn’t figure out a response so he just nodded at her, blinking several times as he looked away from those impossible eyes. Eloquence was his. A regular Proust- ramble on so long as to drown the reader in their own attempts to find meaning in his words. Or be dumb as a post, which he was currently demonstrating flawlessly. He managed to make himself understood to most people, so why not her?

Why not Belle?

He knew the answer to that and it shamed him to be thinking it in front of her. After all, she could likely hear it in his buffoon-like utterances. Clumsy, artless, hopeless fool.

“Forgive me,” he hesitated, “Belle, I don’t have a great deal of practice socializing and am not proficient as a consequence.”

She murmured softly, “Look at me?” He did and stopped breathing, “You could start by pouring us some tea.”

His tense muscles shivered at that, even though he wasn’t cold, and he nodded slowly. She took the pair of spoons from his hands and retreated back to the workbench where she set them on their respective plates with soft clinks.

Gold held the cups in the steam to warm them for a moment before wiping them with a clean cloth napkin. After pouring the hot water into the teapot, he transferred it and the cups to their tea party for two on his workbench.

“It has to steep, still, I’m afraid.” He felt his lip curve upward, something between a smile and a grimace. Smooth he was not.

“There’s nothing like the smell of tea, is there?” Why was she the one giving him the shy look?

He found himself agreeing with her, “Quite right.”

To excuse himself from finding a topic of conversation, he took a bite of Regina’s chocolate sin. It was good. So good. He rolled it around his mouth to savor it a moment longer before reopening his eyes to find Belle staring at him.

There must be a limit to how many times he could shame himself in one sitting. Heat rushed for his hairline and he looked away in horror. Had he moaned? He thought so.

“That’s how I felt about it too.” It was a hesitant murmur.

He turned back to her, tension draining, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s that good.” She took a bite and closed her own eyes. Belle removed the spoon from between her lips slowly and sighed softly. Her eyes crinkled a little at the corners when she reopened them to meet his gaze.

“At least we agree on something,” Gold whispered, not wanting to break the spell.

The two ate quietly until the tea was ready and Gold poured for both of them.

Belle brought the teacup to her chest to curl her hands around it. She was cold. He should give her his jacket, except that he shouldn’t.

She inhaled the steam and let it bathe her face so he did the same. It’s soothing smell calmed his nerves enough to recall what he had hoped to do during this unexpected visit.

“I wanted to apologize for my hasty words last night. I said some uncharitable things.” There. He’d done it. He’d begun to try to make up ground.

She regarded him for a moment, “I confess I’m not sure exactly what you’re referring to.”

“Just as well. I meant them for Regina anyway, but I regret the collateral damage and that I let her rattle me into sloppiness.” He gave a dark little chuckle.

“Maybe,” she said slowly, “we have both said things we wish we could reconsider. Clean slate?”

He looked up from his tea to meet her eyes hopefully, “I would appreciate that.”

That, after all, was exactly what he wanted from her. A clean slate. A second chance at a first impression.

“In that case, Belle,” he used her name deliberately, “may I ask what brought you to Storybrooke?”

“Frankly, a clean slate. I needed a job and a chance to start over. I applied to every job I found remotely appealing in the English speaking world, and a few in the French speaking one as well. I was slowly smothering in my hometown.”

“That’s a feeling I understand.” He didn’t care to tell her anything about his father, if he could avoid it.

Some soft sipping and the clink of china and silver occupied a few moments before she spoke again.

“Why did you agree to fund my new collection?” He could hear the false lightness for what it was and she was tense as a cornered cat when he looked from his tea to her.

Suspicion. What else could it be? “That didn’t last long, did it? Drink your tea, Miss French, then I have work to do.”

He left his own unfinished and moved back to the other end of his work bench to resume stitching her book and said nothing more.

A moment later he heard a little sigh and then the teacup returning to its saucer. The scent of her shampoo curled around his face when she passed him and left the shop.

That was it. He was a perfect failure.


	8. Chapter 8

The were bits of debris everywhere. The previous night, a wind storm had trashed the normally tidy little coastal town. The storm had blasted the not-ready-to-fall leaves from the trees leaving the town feeling bare and exposed. Power had gone out abruptly and Belle’s night had been spent wrapped in her sleeping bag listening to the otherworldly howling that shouldn’t have been a natural noise.

The Storybrooke metropolitan area, such as it was, had been littered in downed trees and far flung limbs from the brutal pruning. The number of fallen trees was astonishing, and Belle thought, sad. She hated to see trees with their roots thrust skyward. It was sickening somehow. Hopefully the city would replant come spring. And if they didn’t suggest it themselves, Belle was considering organizing an Arbor Day work party to get it done. Trees were a steady comforting presence in Belle’s new life here and losing them hurt.

Trees were growing things that persevered. She needed that in her life.

Especially since her sink had picked last night to spring a leak.

She had thought the wet dripping sounds were due to the unusually ferocious weather and had ignored them all night. To her immense regret.

Belle blustered into Granny’s, the only empowered structure in town aside from the hospital due to Granny’s excellent attention to generator maintenance, drenched and wind ruffled.

“I need help!”

The packed diner came to quiet rather quickly and Belle felt a pang of foolishness for the panic in her voice.

“It’s the books. They’re going to get wet. There’s a leak and the city can’t get to it in time. I can’t do it alone. Will anyone help me?” Yes, she sounded breathless and distressed. She was acutely aware that some might roll their eyes at this. Not exactly a life or death situation, but she didn’t care, they were her books and that was that.

Belle couldn’t keep the smile from her face when, five minutes later, she was leading a herd of her neighbors down the street toward her imperiled books.

Across the street, Mr. Gold’s Cadillac had parked in front of his shop and the man himself was picking up detached shingles off the pavement and depositing them into a trash can. Belle had intended to pay him no mind, but she wasn’t the only one who had seen him.

A tall man from her group broke off and jaywalked quickly across to exchange a few words with the pawnbroker. Mr. Gold himself, glanced at her and then toward the library, said a few words to the man and then went back to picking up shredded roofing.

What had that been about?

Even with her rush, by the time she returned to the back corner of the library below her sink, the drywall wasn’t dry anymore, an inch worth of water had spread out a good twenty feet from the wall and the ceiling tiles were looking sodden. One had begun to bulge.

With some hasty directions, Operation Save the Stacks was proceeding in a bucket brigade style. Books were flying off the shelf and out of the path of the spreading water damage.

Within twenty minutes the most at risk reading material had been removed from the immediate vicinity and Gus, whom she’d seen at the marine garage, interrupted her.

“Miss Belle,” Gus had a warm smile for her always and today was no exception, “Mr. Gold sent me to do what I could for your sink. Fix it if I can, but stop the leak at least. Can you show me?”

“Mr. Gold?”

“He said the city sometimes uses his people when they’re short. I do contracting work for him sometimes. You send his bill to the city and they take care of it. Everybody’s happy.” Gus shifted from foot to foot, and glanced at the now breached ceiling tile and the water steadily splatting into a garbage can.

“But how does Mr. Gold even know this fast?” Belle felt dread pooling in her stomach.

Gus blinked and squirmed uncomfortably before he said, “Look, I work for the guy and he gives me a break on the rent when inconvenient stuff happens. Mr. Gold knows about everything in this town. That’s just how it is.”

Belle glanced around for the tall man she’d seen talking to Mr. Gold earlier. He was easily grabbing books from the top shelf without need for a ladder. It was clear that Mr. Gold had his grip on this town and he was probably trying to get that same grip on her. But what choice did she have? At least there would be a bill she could forward to the city. “Fine, great. Come upstairs?”

Gus had the water shut off within half an hour and her little team of heroes had found a wet-vac from somewhere. The damage had been limited and cleanup was underway.

Her books were safe.

That left yet another entanglement to Mr. Gold by whom she felt more baffled with each interaction.


	9. Chapter 9

The door bell jingle and Gold turned around quickly, hoping to see Belle. But it was Mr. Dove.

“The leak has been repaired and I’ve got a preliminary damage assessment for you.” The tall man had a smooth soft voice no one would expect from such a man. His calm demeanor kept him firmly ensconced in Gold’s employ. “We managed to save all the books, but there is considerable drywall damage and if we don’t get it ripped out and dehumidifiers going as soon as possible we are risking mold if not structural issues with the historic timbers. I am afraid we may already be too late for Miss French’s cabinetry. We’ll need generators and a demo team to extract the wet material immediately.”

“Fine, fine.” He retrieved sufficient cash for the rentals and handed it to the tall man. “Please begin invoices at the usual rates for yourself, Mr. Williams and whomever else you need. And send Miss French to me as soon as she is available.”

“And the cabinetry?”

“Marco should do a nice job for Miss French. I’ve always found his work pleasing.”

Only a flicker of a raised eyebrow betrayed Mr. Dove’s surprise. Gold knew that used or even ready-made cabinetry would be more than sufficient and that hiring a master woodworker to hand-craft a new kitchen for Miss French was nothing he could bill the city for.

But the discrete man made no comment, “Of course, Mr. Gold. Anything else?”

“No. Keep me updated.”

The candles lighting the cold shop guttered in the breeze when the door shut behind Mr. Dove.

She should have something better than could be bought at Home Cheapo or a scrap heap, which is what the city would have done. She deserved better.

He didn’t want to think too hard about why.

It seemed like only seconds later, but he had been lost in thought about waves of shiny hair and impossibly bright eyes when the subject of his flight of fancy stepped cautiously into his shop.

Gold set his pen down and gazed at her, disheveled and dirty from the work. Such a vital, vibrant person, practically glowing with it right through the layer of grime.

He smiled and stepped around the counter. Yes, he remember the outcome of their last encounter and he still had the cup, unable to throw it in the bin where it belonged. Because it was hers.

“Uh, Mr. Gold. Thank you for sending someone to help me. The city is completely overextended with the storm damage and-” she stopped herself, “You wanted to see me?”

“Ah, yes. Miss French. Regarding your home. It will be unlivable while repairs are underway. Marco does a thorough job of cabinetry, but it does take time. Here is a key you may use while you are staying with me.” He took his house key from his keychain and extended it to her.

Her mouth hung open and she didn’t reach for the key. She was staring at him. Not moving, not blinking, shocked.

Of course, he was too. He hadn’t planned that last part. But it had come to him as soon as he realized that Granny’s would be completely booked with everyone who couldn’t stand the likely extended period without power to their homes. People with young children, the elderly. There wouldn’t be room for Belle there. So she would stay with him. Obviously. But he hadn’t even considered any other options before handing her his key.

“Miss French? Take it.” He gestured toward her with the key.

“I’ll be fine, Mr. Gold. I’m sure Granny’s-“

“-is already full. You’ll have your own room with a bathroom en-suite. I won’t be a bother to you and you’re welcome to spend your time in the library. I’ll likely be in my study. It’s a big house and you’ll barely know I’m there. And I have a generator.”

She still didn’t take the key. But his eyes were staring at it, rather than at her face. He couldn’t bear to see him reject him for some reason.

“Mr. Gold, I can’t possibly-”

“Why not?” He did look up at her then. She’d have to outright call him a monster to his face and he wanted to see it when she did. For some reason he thought he was owed at least that much honesty from her.

Her mouth worked and she looked afraid. Would she say she wasn’t comfortable staying in a house alone with a strange man? That would be a very reasonable way out for her. One he would be hard pressed to argue.

But she blinked a few times and then said, “Very well. I’ll rent a room from you until my home is livable.”

She swallowed and looked at him expectantly.

He felt his face fall as soon as she said the word rent, but what could he say? He was a landlord who had just offered lodging. Of course that’s what she’d think he meant.

After a long moment studying her face, he licked his lip and replied, “Excellent, Miss French. If you want to gather what you’ll need, I’ll draft a rental agreement and then I’ll drive you home. Can you be back here in thirty minutes?”

Her chest heaved with her breath and her eyes were wide. “Half an hour, Mr. Gold.”

He was so busy staring at her that he didn’t notice until she was gone. Not creepy or anything. What had he gotten himself into?

“Five dollars a week? That’s absurd!” Belle exclaimed half an hour later, shaking the document. She’d packed lightly, what she could live out of for no more than a week and the bag sat beside her on the floor of the shop.

His face didn’t budge an inch. “Those are the terms, Miss French. Please sign here and here and initials will be fine here, here, and here.”

He pointed with practice to the usual places on his typical rental agreement. Well, typical except the price. He did feel a bit smug. If she couldn’t accept anyone’s help for free, he could point that out to her at least.

Her hair gleamed in the fluttering candle light and he enjoyed observing her vexed expression.

“Mr. Gold, what are you trying to do? What do you want from me?” Her tone sounded a bit pinched.

Hurt lanced through his chest and he sighed. “Miss French, I don’t want anything from you. Except maybe a civil hello when we pass on the street. It’s fine if you think I’m the monster of this town, but I will continue to behave as I think I should without regard to the town rumors. I don’t much care to explain myself to you.”

He tried very hard not to think too carefully on the blatant lies he’d just told in favor of clinging to the more important truths. He shouldn’t have to explain why he wanted to help her. He shouldn’t have to rip his heart out of his chest to prove he had one.

He tried even harder to ignore the lie about not caring for her opinion, because the precise inverse was true. He was trying desperately to be the person he wanted to be, and he wanted very much for her to like him.

Her shoulders sagged and she hung her head with her elbows leaning on his counter. He could see the ridges of her spine marching down underneath her jacket and sweater. He wanted to trace those with his fingers. Oh, and the part about not wanting anything from her was the biggest lie of them all.

“Mr. Gold, I am not a charity case. You’ve been treating me like a damsel in distress since we met and even if you mean well by it, I can’t take pity. It’s insulting to say the least. I don’t know why you’re helping me and if I had any other options right now I’d use them. I abhor debts and I hate the feeling of not being mistress of my own affairs even more. I can care for myself like an adult and I feel like you have been infantilizing me. I’m not some daughter figure to you, not someone you need to prove something to.” She blew out a breath as his insides shook from the accusations and their accuracy. “Either you charge me fair market rent for a room or I will stay in the library and make do like everyone else in this town without power.”

“Miss French I have news for you. Competent fully fledged adults need help at times. Independence is a destructive myth. Furthermore, as I control both the rental market in this town and my own home, I set the market value on its rooms.” He let the silence stretch as she frowned up at him for a second. Then he said, “Five dollars a day for your pride.”

She wrinkled her mouth and looked away but she muttered, “Deal.”


	10. Chapter 10

He had taken her bag in spite of his cane, loaded it into the trunk, and opened, then closed, her door for her. Then he’d waited for her to be buckled and clearly settled before easing the big car into motion. And he said nothing.

Mr. Gold was an enigma.

His house, it turned out was a grand affair. Except the pink part. So elegant and refined even from the exterior, Belle just couldn’t understand how anyone could come to the conclusion that pink was the right color for such a stately mansion. She, finding tact for once in her life, said nothing about this.

He unlocked the glimmering stained glass door and took her coat in the foyer. This he hung along side his own.

Then he spoke for the first time since his shop. “You are welcome anywhere you like. If you don’t find something you need, please ask me and I’ll see to it. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you around.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gold.” Belle had set a goal for herself. Be polite and grateful, like a non-suspicious and gracious human being instead of herself. She could manage that for a few days at least, surely, if she ignored that her current record for civility toward this man was approximately twenty minutes thus far.

Inside, the estate matched the promise of the outside. Tastefully full of antiques and art, impeccable furnishings, fixtures, and graceful chandeliers, all completely lacked dust. He must have help. Belle didn’t want to sit down on any surface lest she mar it with her working class social status.

And the walls were varying shades of pink. He couldn’t possibly have perfect home decor sensibilities.

Belle felt privately glad of this because living in a house with a perfectly groomed, perfectly mannered, and completely fashionable rich person would be impossible. Like trying to cook spaghetti in a museum.

Mr. Gold took her to her room first and set her bag at the foot of the bed. He then carefully folded the sheets off the furniture, not that there was a single surviving dust bunny in the whole house, and set about making the bed with fresh sheets.

At first, Belle stood there blinking and not knowing what to do. Then, to avoid feeling completely useless, she snatched at the opposite corners of the bedding to stretch them over the bed. Mr. Gold said nothing the entire time and Belle watched what he did to ensure her side of the bed matched his. He even had a posh way of arranging bedclothes. And he probably called them bedclothes in his head too. Because he would, now wouldn’t he?

“There’s and ensuite bathroom, just through that door.” 

Belle startled at his sudden words in the silence and blinked sheepishly. “Uh, thank you, yes.”

Let the record show the eloquence of the librarian, keeper of words. She could feel the blush rising up her neck.

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the house.” He had already stepped back into the hallway by the time he realized she wasn’t following in favor of standing there, probably with her tongue hanging out of her gaping mouth or something equally gauche.

“Oh, yes, pardon me.” That was rich person for, “Don’t mind me, I’m and ass,” wasn’t it?

They said things like that in the movies. It must have worked because he nodded like she’d finally wised up when she followed him out.

He pointed out his rooms, study and bedroom, to her in passing but took her into nearly every other room in all three stories. He begged her forgiveness for not showing her the basement at the late hour, as both needed dinner. Of course, the reason for the lateness, by the time the basement was in question, was how long it had taken to extract her from the library. The single room was two stories high. It had a balcony complete with a wooden railing and two spiraling staircases for access.

Belle thought of sliding down the wooden banister on her bottom but ruthlessly squished the thought. Maybe when he wasn’t home- NO.

His collection was enviable. Both the antique furnishings of the room, perfectly suited to the Victorian home, and the breadth and depth of his literary selections. Antique and rare books were plentiful and his taste in reading was very clearly cultivated. Broad in interests and diverse beyond her wildest imaginings when he had mentioned his library to her.

Why bother with the shack she ran when he had this? No, the man did not need a library card. He would just buy anything he needed and add it to this magnificent collection.

“Does it meet with your approval then?” His voice had been soft and nearer than she expected.

Belle blinked away unexpected tears which had begun to prickle her eyes. “You don’t need my approval, Mr. Gold, but nonetheless, you have it.”

Daring to look at him, Belle had seen Avery smile as he looked down demurely and it had looked like relief. And Belle had felt sure it was Avery standing beside her just then, not Mr. Gold.

He murmured, “Will you join me for dinner? Or do you satisfy yourself with books alone?”

Maybe it was this glimpse into a man who, for some reason, wanted her to like his books that gave Belle the courage to be playful, “I do eat food as well.”

When he looked at her and didn’t say anything for a heartbeat, she had added, “I’d love to join you for dinner, Mr. Gold.”

And she meant it. No one who had a library like this could be all bad.

What other assumptions had she made about him?

It turned out, contrary to one such assumption, that Mr. Gold not only cooked for himself, but did so very well. He diffidently asked her if baked fish and rice would be acceptable. She assumed he’d grab a preprepared frozen dinner for each of them and that would be that. Graciously, she thought, Belle smiled and agreed.

Then he started getting out ingredients. Sea bass, leeks, wine, butter, tarragon, and mushrooms. The man checked and then sharpened a very expensive looking knife before making quick work of the portobellos. The rice wasn’t Uncle Frank’s Minute Rice either. No, it was more varieties of wild rice than she could name.

Admittedly, Belle only knew about white rice and brown rice and those probably weren’t their right names anyway.

In any case, the grains numbered more than five kinds.

Watching Mr. Gold cook was a lot like watching a dancer in a private ballet of food preparation just for her. After her first offer to help, politely declined, Belle gave up feeling bad about the rejection, or the lack of work on her part. It was exceedingly clear that she would be an impediment, not an asset in this art form. And she had been impressed by Regina.

The smells coming from the oven made her stomach squeeze and turn over in its urgent hunger, the dire need to consume whatever smelled like that. It informed her that she had not eaten anything in the last eighty-four years. Lies, she knew, but it smelled that good.

At least, she considered, she had been warned ahead of time what the standard for food in this town was before she naively invited her boss or any of the city council members to dinner. Granny wasn’t this town’s premiere chef. Considering the two examples she was now privy to, Belle wondered whom else might be a covert chef de cuisine.

Most assuredly not her. Time to start studying up.

All the while he’d been asking her of this and that. Where did she grow up? Hobbies, aside from reading? Most embarrassing moment in high school. Which, to her surprise, he bargained for with the offer of his own.

An unfortunate incident involving some bullies, a poor Scottish boy, and a blind date.

Belle had enjoyed his self-deprecating smile as he told her.

It helped to know he had been poor. Somehow, it relaxed her to know that all of the grandeur around her had been learned and acquired. Cultivated rather than innate.

Here, in his quiet kitchen filled with exquisite cooking smells, the snaggletoothed monster of Storybrooke seemed an absurd fiction. How did these two polar opposite people exist in one man?

Her head hurt with the cognitive dissonance.

That weekend Regina picked her up from Gold’s home to make good on her threat of a shopping trip.

“So. You and Gold.” That was what she said as soon as Belle closed the passenger side door.

“What?” Her bewilderment was in earnest. This trip was starting off every bit as bad as Belle imagined it could and her boss definitely had an agenda with Belle-bait skewered on the hook.

“Oh, my mistake. I assumed since he opened his home to you, that the two of you had come to an understanding. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Good gods, no!” That came out in a whuff of breath.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Regina arch an eyebrow and frown at the same time. On her, that expression could have meant anything and Belle had no idea what the woman next to her was thinking as she pulled the car away from the curb. It was going to be a very, very long shopping trip.

Of course it got worse. Half buried under Regina’s pile of fluffy, frilly and shiny rejects, Belle looked on as Regina twisted this way and that admiring yet another obviously perfectly suited dress. Of course Regina had the entire shop’s worth of employees on the hunt for one of every dress they carried for both Belle and herself so that Belle had to help Regina in and out of every single thing she tried on.

Regina had promised to do the same for her, not to worry. Just perfect.

And she couldn’t even look miserable about it because Regina was her boss and had told her they were going to the most expensive restaurant she knew of, her treat, when they were done.

But they were never going to be done and Belle was going to starve to death if she didn’t become a dehydrated mummy first, so she had stopped fretting about swanky eats at least.   
Until Regina caught her eye in the mirror. “So if not Mr. Gold, have you selected a date for the ball yet?”

Startled, Belle jerked and the top frothy disaster tumbled to the floor and bounced on its petticoat before coming to rest like an exsanguinated ballerina. She had fumbled for the garment which cost as much as her next three paychecks combined but only succeeded in dislodging the entire pile onto the floor.

“Uh. I’m supposed to have a date?” Belle, at peak grace and poise, gaped like a fish at the elegant woman in the mirror whose mouth pursed delicately as she raised a perfect eyebrow. Her blustering surely made it better, “I barely know anyone in town and haven’t even thought about that yet!”

“It could be worse,” Regina shrugged and began to pick at manicured nail, “at least you aren’t out dress shopping for the perfect dress to sweep the woman you don’t have the courage to ask to be your date off her feet.”

Belle stared dumbly. No words, a loud buzzing in her ears, nobody home at all.

Then Regina slumped just a tiny bit and looked away, saying nothing.

Belle blinked and the lights came back on in her brain. She got up and picked her way carefully around the fallen dresses to stand behind Regina and look in her eyes “Do you think she isn’t interested? Or have you never tried at all?”

Brown eyes fastened on hers in the mirror. “There are considerations.” Regina rolled her hand this way and that, “I’m her boss and there’s the age difference- don’t worry, it’s not you, you drive stick anyway, don’t you Belle?- but mostly I’m just scared to screw up the best friendship I have.”

Belle’s heart started beating again about halfway through and she nodded at the appropriate intervals. Her mouth felt dry and Belle felt dreadfully guilty and petty. In the mayor’s eyes now was an earnestness that might have been there all along had Belle trusted her enough to look for it. In the moment of deep eye contact, she came to a decision.

“You need a wingwoman.”

Regina’s mouth parted and it looked for just a second like she misted over. Then those falcon-like eyes fixed on Belle’s. “You offering?”

“I could check out the situation for you, I suppose. Who is she?”

“Emma.” Regina whispered, far away.

On the case now, Belle perked up, “So she’s Graham’s employee, not yours.”

Regina’s focus snapped back to Belle, “They both work for the city and so for me.”

“Horse shit.” Then Belle realized what she’d said and coughed in embarrassment. To cover she hurried on. “You may as well decide you can’t date in Storybrooke because everyone is a constituent.”

“I haven’t dated in Storybrooke since I got elected.”

“And before that?”

“I still didn’t date in Storybrooke.” Regina scowled like a child with a fist trapped in a cookie jar. Quite incongruous with her current attire.

“What happened here?” A alarmed shop assistant, probably named Cindy, stared through her caked on makeup like someone had left murdered children for her to find.

Belle was about to fret, but she saw the impish gleam in Regina’s eye. “My fault dear, she couldn’t keep up with me.”

Cindy, blotchy and red with her distress, began fluttering about to restore the dresses- completely unharmed- to their hangers and take charge of the situation once again. A moment later, her beleaguered and long suffering coworker Beth-Ann pushed in an entire rack of hanging pastry-like cloth confections and looked directly at Belle through the mirror.

Regina, smoothing her hands over her curves a final time said, “I’ll take this one. Your turn.”

Belle felt the blood drain out of her face as she turned toward the waiting clutches of Cindy and Beth-Ann. At least she had bothered to shower and shave all the bits before leaving this morning. It could have been worse.

“Thank you for dinner, Regina, and for today.” Belle swirled the ice cubes in her glass so they clinked merrily and she gave her boss a genuine smile. Regina had kept the dress store hounds at bay, protecting her from their attempts to sucker her into a more expensive and less flattering gown, while chivvying them into not taking all day about their job.

If Cinderella’s mice had squeaked like those two, the princess would have undoubtedly squashed each and every one.

In any case, the end result had actually been a boon to Belle’s self esteem. And then Regina had paid for both dresses and the alterations.

“I should be thanking you for today, actually. No one does girls’ night with the mayor and I haven’t had the pleasure in a very long time.” Regina’s smile was a human expression rather than any of her usual selection between predatory smirks and condescending sweetness.

“With any luck, that’s about to change. To Emma.” Belle clinked glasses with her softly blushing dinner companion.


	11. Chapter 11

Gold felt no shame in instructing Marco when Belle’s home would be once again fit for rehabitation. And Marco hadn’t batted an eyelash when told he had to make sure to complete the work to precisely coincide with the completion of the basement remodel. Getting Marco some of the contracts for furnishings for said basement had covered the artificially late deadline for completion nicely, he thought.

So, Belle had occupied the couches and chairs and love-seats and chaise-longues in every corner of his house for the last two months leaving her unfinished reading material behind her like cookie crumbs after a toddler. And he loved it.

He had made certain blankets were always within easy reach no matter which piece of furniture she landed on for a reading attack, those usually lasted hours on end, and that tea and snacks appeared regularly.

Gold knew he was caring for Belle like she was his guest, not his roommate or even his tenant, maybe even a bit more like she was his- no, none of that. But looking after Belle’s needs made his heart light and made him feel warm on the inside so he kept doing it and flushed stray thoughts neatly away in favor of just enjoying Belle’s presence in his life.

If she had moved beyond treating him as suspect, which it seemed she had, that was enough for him. When she arrived home each night, she would greet him and ask after his day. Then he’d do the same in a little ritual while he cooked. To his pleasure, her cheeks had filled out a little during her stay with him and she no longer looked a little on the hungry side, as she had when she’d moved in. 

Now she glowed pleasantly to his eyes under his kitchen lights while telling him that Marco had let her know she could return home in two days.

Even though it wasn’t remotely a surprise, it hit Gold much harder than he had imagined.

“I suppose you’re looking forward to being in your own space again. I do hope I wasn’t too distressing of a roommate for you.” Gold murmured in reply.

“Distressing is not what I’d call my sojourn here, Mr. Gold.” Belle smiled at him. “If anything, I’m going to have to readjust to adulthood doldrums the likes of cooking and cleaning since I’ve been so utterly spoiled in your home.”

Before he could stop himself he returned, “If you ever get sick of those things, you can always just drop by. If you give me a heads up you won’t even have to eat left-overs.”

She was silent a long time and Gold feared he’d said the wrong thing, desperate old pervert that he was.

“Careful what you wish for, Mr. Gold. I’m very handy with left-overs and I know where you live.” Her voice was careful and quiet, but the underlying tease came through in the sparkle of her eye when he chanced a look at her.

He dared to offer her a small smile. “I’m very careful with wishes, always.”

Two days later she had grabbed her bags from the back seat of his car, thanked him, and shut the car door with a finality that left the high tone of true loneliness ringing in his ears.

The buzzing of his cellphone was sacrilegiously loud in the empty dark of his shop an hour later. 

He hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights or flip the sign to open because he needed time to think on the new problem in his life. Or rather out of it. Belle was out of his life and it felt like someone had taken a hot knife and pried out one of his ribs. The one right over his heart.

Telling himself he had only wanted to prove to himself that he could be likable to someone, anyone, so that there was even a small chance of his son accepting him might have had a semblance of truth two months ago, but not now.

It was true that they hadn’t spoken of much beyond the surface details of their lives and exchanged quips over dinners, he had refused to pry, but Gold’s attachment to his temporary tenant now went deeper than was convenient or even manageable. Trying to deny that the loss of heartbreak wasn’t suffocating him wasn’t working or even close. He was beyond in trouble. And it was ridiculous. She tolerated him politely.

That was more than he had before living with her, and that would have satisfied, more than satisfied, the man to whom she had brought her beloved book for mending. But he wasn’t that man anymore, not the man who didn’t need anyone except his son. 

The loneliness was crushing and his damn phone was still buzzing.

“Gold!” he snapped.

“I found him. How soon can you be in Tallahassee?” August Booth was a professional and didn’t bother to dignify Gold’s rudeness.

It only took him a beat to come to razor focus, “Likely by midnight tonight, but tomorrow morning at the latest. You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Text me your flight number and I’ll pick you up.” The call ended.

The searing pain in his chest of a moment ago was replaced by a thundering heart galloping to the beat of hope.


	12. Chapter 12

Her new kitchen was exquisite. Smooth wood grains wrapped the room in the cozy warmth of a cottage. There was an elegant simplicity to the cabinetry which hid modern surprises like self closing cupboards and smooth gliding shelves. A complete surprise, Marco had designed a hide-away step stool into a seemingly impossible space between two sets of drawers below the counter which allowed her to actually reach the upper shelves of the cupboards above. Thoughtful and ingenious.

The most surprising touch, though, was the little breakfast table and chairs made of the same cedar design to match the rest of the kitchen. The space made sense and was at least twice as efficient as before. How had the city signed off on a make-over this expensive?

Sure, she and Regina had become friends since their shopping trip, but that meant she knew what a careful steward the mayor was with the city’s funds. It didn’t make sense. Belle was going to have to ask her about it.

And she needed to make good on her plans to hook Regina up with her date of choice to the Yule Ball. 

It had only taken one tipsy night at the Rabbit Hole with Emma and Ruby to determine that Emma would be very much open to the idea.

Ruby had complained openly about the lack of ladies in town while not so discretely looking over a local teacher and her very male date and Emma piped up: “I noticed that too. I dated a guy and it didn’t go well, in the extreme. I’m bi, but I’m so over men.”

Ruby had just about jumped out of her skin in surprise while Belle had, she thought, very coolly sipped her drink.

Ruby looked Emma over with a cocked head for a while before she shook it, “You’re too girly for my taste.”

“Too girly? You’re calling me too girly?” Emma wasn’t mad, more bombastically perplexed.

“Or, maybe just the wrong kind of girly. I dunno, just my luck that I’m not into the only eligible lady in town. No offense.” Ruby had her face twisted up somewhere between apology and incredulity at her own misfortune.

But Emma took it in stride, “Yeah, you’re not on my list either. Just not a fit. You know?”

“Cheers to that.” They clinked glasses and Belle laughed along with them.

With that nugget tucked safely away, Belle had proceeded to bring Regina to lunch with herself and Emma on several occasions. She’d even gone so far as to ask Emma point blank about her dating life hoping Regina would get some guts.

She didn’t. Not when Emma laughed over not being interested in the only other out girl in town. Not when Emma complained about a trip to Boston that was a total bust. And not when Ruby had begun making regular trips to see a lady she met on that same trip to Boston when Emma had stuck out.

With the Yule Ball only two weeks away, Belle’s last, best hope was the quiet evening in she’d planned for the four of them. Quiet until they got through a bottle or two of the wine Belle had waiting. Thankfully, Regina had offered to cater the event so Belle didn’t have to worry about cooking. Even if the excuse for the evening had been christening Belle’s new kitchen.

That did mean asking Regina about the care and expense that had gone into the project because it was going to be obvious to everyone.

And with that thought, her phone buzzed and showed her a text from Emma to be let in.

By the time Belle had arrived downstairs to open the library door, the other two had arrived and all were chatting amiably. The casserole dish in Regina’s arms was giving off tantalizing steam and Belle rushed them all in out of the cold.

“You aren’t going to believe the job Marco did for me!” Belle giggled to them.

“Marco? What did he have to do with your kitchen refit that took way too long?” That was a very weird thing for Regina to ask.

“What do you mean? He did all the work. You hired him.”

“No, I didn’t.” 

They climbed the stairs to her apartment.

“You didn’t? I thought you approved all the modifications to city property, that you’re rather known for that.” Belle felt she could tease her boss a little by this point.

“I am and I do. Gold never ran having Marco get the contract by me. I’d have said no. And come to think of it, I haven’t seen the bill yet. I haven’t yet had reason to kill Mr. Gold, but I’m getting this funny feeling right now and it might be anticipation.” Regina had bared her lips around a snarly smile.

Belle’s gut clenched uncomfortably. “Maybe I shouldn’t let you in, if it’s going to result in homicide.”

“Relax, Belle, he’s the one with the hit squad. Not me. But if I can get him on spending city money without approval and due process, I can run his smarmy ass out of town.” 

Belle didn’t particularly like the predatory gleam in the mayor’s dark eyes. “Uh, come in?”

“Damn straight, let’s see what’s going to get Mr. Gold burned at the stake.” Ruby pushed passed her and gasped. “Ooooo! Wow! Marco did a beautiful job and Mr. Gold is a deadman. We’re all getting a break on the rent this month!!!”

“Now, now, Ruby, Regina, I won’t countenance mobs or burning at the stake in this town. But,” Emma feasted her eyes on Belle’s perfect kitchen, “I will definitely enjoy it if I get to arrest that guy. Damn, Belle, you made out on city funds!”

“Emma!” Belle cried, finding herself dismayed on two counts.

“Relax,” Regina turned away from where she had been running her fingers over the wood, “we know you had nothing to do with this and we’ll just enjoy taking the infamous Mr. Gold down a notch or three.”

“Wine?” Belle squeaked nervously? This was not going as she had anticipated.

“Definitely!” The other three women quickly had their noses in full wine glasses while Belle arranged Regina’s delicious offerings for everyone to dish up.

“Regina, I thought I didn’t like lasagna because all I’d ever had was Granny’s but if this is what lasagna is supposed to be, I’m a convert.” Emma had seated herself next to Regina without Belle having to contrive anything.

“Why thank you, Emma. I’ll do you a favor and not mention it to Granny. I hear you like eating there.” Was there a tinge of pink in Regina’s cheeks?

“I do at that. So Ruby, are you going to bring the mystery lady to the Yule Ball?”

Ruby hastily chewed and swallowed, “You bet your ass I am! I’ll finally have someone to dance with.”

“That’s wonderful, Ruby! So happy for you. What about you, Emma? Have you found anyone yet?” Belle was praying the answer was no as she prepared her next move.

“No,” relief let Belle’s belly unclench, “the Boston girls are cute enough, but I haven’t really hit it off with anyone yet. Won’t be the first party I’ve gone to by myself.” Emma stuffed another bite of lasagna in and chewed.

A herd of horses stampeded through Belle’s chest while she said, “Why don’t you go with Regina? Last I checked you,” she pointed at the scarlet and tense woman frozen stiff beside Emma, “hadn’t found a date yet either. You two would be cute together.”

Belle wanted to barf from nerves and for the total lack of finesse she’d just displayed. Please let this work...

Regina coughed as if she’d inhaled a noodle but finally she sputtered, “No, no I haven’t.”

And then she didn’t say anything else. Belle waited. Ruby was staring avidly, eyes flicking rapidly between the two who weren’t looking at each other because their eyes were fixed on their respective food.

No one moved a muscle until Ruby threw down her napkin. “Oh for godssakes, Emma, say you’d be delighted to accompany the mayor and Regina, say nothing would make you happier and then you both have dates and then we can get back to the real problem that Belle doesn’t have a date either.”

Belle could have killed Ruby right then. This was so not about her. But then...

“I mean, if you don’t want to go by yourself this year, I mean. Well. I would if you wanted. Oh.” Emma broke off with a sigh.

“You wouldn’t be delighted then? It’d be under duress?” Regina had pulled her snark mask most of the way on as she regarded Emma sideways.

The two had shrunk in on themselves to get as far away from one another as possible without actually getting up and moving.

“No, Regina, I would be, it’s just that-”

“You would?!” The snark mask fell away like a slice of cake falling from a paper plate too weak to support it. Belle couldn’t hear the splat, but she could well imagine it.

“Uh, yeah, I would.” Emma gave Regina a shaky little smile and Belle’s heart melted.

Finally.

“Uh, I’m delighted to hear that, Miss Swan.”

“Miss Swan??” Ruby busted up laughing. “Miss Swan??”

A snigger escaped Belle a moment later and while the newest couple attending the Yule Ball together may not have been quite as raucous in their merriment as Belle and Ruby, they did chuckle and look at one another a great deal.


	13. Chapter 13

Both Emma and Regina were late to lunch so Belle had been waiting it out in a good book when the ambient noise of the diner altered noticeably. There was a sort of ripple going through the other patrons and she saw some surprised faces, some hastily darted looks toward the back of the diner and the sibilance of whispering became an undercurrent to the din of conversation.

Belle resisted the urge to turn around and stare for an embarrassingly short amount of time. She did want to know what was going on, after all.

Then she rudely stared with her mouth hanging agog.

Mr. Gold had a sandy haired toddler in his arms and a teenager trailing him as he headed toward an empty booth. The teenager snagged a high-chair and positioned it before taking the toddler from Mr. Gold and threading less than cooperative feet through the leg holes at the front of the seat.

Belle had tried to confront Mr. Gold about her kitchen the very next morning following her girls’ night, but his shop had been closed then and every day since. No one had seen the man and his voicemail just indicated he was out of town and to see Mr. Dove for business needs.

The teenager tossed a diaper bag into the seat beside him and slid into the booth while Mr. Gold did the same and the toddler kicked his little feet while he banged his hands on the high-chair. With Mr. Gold’s back to her now, she watched the teenager openly, still too stunned to even start making suppositions.

Ruby, bustling out of the kitchen with drinks on a tray, nearly lost the lot of them at the sight, but skillfully recovered in time to give her practiced greeting and then buzz by Belle mouthing “Oh. My. God.”

Mr. Gold started playing patty cake with the little boy, or was trying to, and Belle gave up on any pretense of politeness to just openly watch the spectacle. No one else in the diner apparently had the nerve to do more than cast furtive and occasional looks in their direction, she noticed. The teenager was pouring over the menu with a ravenous and pinched expression, like he had been hungry a long time. And the boy was thin to the point of stringy. The toddler, however, had pudgy baby cheeks and a drooly smile for Mr. Gold who had progressed to making faces during their rather clumsy game of hand slapping.

Mr. Gold was making faces.

Belle did not understand the man. But she was sure he wanted something from her. 

He’d been the perfect gentleman with her in his home, beyond reproof. Stiffly so, if she was honest with herself. He had also been good company during meals-an avid conversationalist- and seen to her every need as if his home were a hotel and not a rented place for her to crash, let alone his castle where she was something to trip over and which he considered a general nuisance. Far from feeling like a burden in his home, Belle had felt a warmth from Mr. Gold she liked and which she now saw again in his playtime with this child.

The problem was that he was clearly motivated by something. His behavior toward her was odd, both having her in his home at all and the outlandish kitchen make-over. If he hadn’t seen so consistently genuine for so long, Belle would have thought him a creep. But creeps don’t behave like gentlemen, or like people desperate for approval.

But why on Earth would Mr. Gold be seeking approval from anyone about anything? He didn’t need to. Not for any reason Belle could see. His power base was secure, so who did he have to impress? Certainly not her. Unless he really did mean to use her somehow and was playing a very long game.

Not impossible. Ignoring the rumors about him was impossible though. Having gotten to know Ruby better and listened at length to what she overheard in the diner, if one tenth of it was true, Mr. Gold ruled this town with a fist full of its gold. He had been described as merciless over and over and over again.

The thought made Belle’s stomach knot uncomfortably as she juxtaposed it with the rather sweet memories of him bring her tea, blankets, biscuits, and snacks when she would lose herself in a book. Or when she noticed the slight tightness of her skirt’s waistband from having been distinctly well fed for the last two months. In those moments, Belle had hoped they might become friends, but Mr. Gold always remained rather professionally distant with her, no matter what she said or did.

Something was up and Belle didn’t get it. He couldn’t be both people. Couldn’t be a ruthless landlord who was strangling a town and a shy, compassionate man who took in stray librarians and fixed their books for free.

Well. Maybe on that last count. He still had her book and had said nothing other than that he was still working on it when she had braved asking about it.

“Neal?!” A expulsion of shock came from behind her. She whirled around to see Emma, white as Granny’s china staring in the direction she had been moments ago.

Beside her, Regina gripped Emma’s hand tightly and then clamped on to her arm, kneading Emma’s biceps. Her gaze whipped between Emma and the scene at Mr. Gold’s table as it unfolded.

The teenager, apparently Neal, had terrified, teacup eyes fixed on Emma for a long beat before they flicked to the toddler who had grabbed one of Mr. Gold’s fingers with his whole tiny hand.

“Emma, what’s going on?” Regina had put on her mayor’s voice and Belle darted a look at her. Regina appeared caught between the can-handle-anything mayor she was and a flat-footed mouse who has just seen the hungry cat.

“Emma? I, uh.” Neal stood, he looked like a caught criminal who was extremely happy to see his jailer. The weirdness had just gotten weirder and Belle’s bafflement went up a notch.

At this, Mr. Gold’s attention locked onto the teenager then quickly rubber-necked to glance in their direction.

“Neal. Um. This is, um, Regina Mills, Mayor of Storybrooke.” Emma dragged Regina right past where Belle was sitting toward Neal. Neal, stubbed his toe on the high-chair on his way to Emma. “Regina, this is my ex, Neal.”

“The one you went to jail for?” By this time, no one in the small diner was talking except Regina so her low murmur was clearly audible to everyone. Belle saw Mr. Gold flinch in the process of standing up and extricating his hand from the toddler’s grasp. The toddler, sensing the disquiet of the room had begun to wrinkle up his face in preparation for only one thing.

“Yes. That one.”

“The one you had a baby for?” Regina continued.

“Same one.” Emma ground out, “Looks like I wasn’t the only one he did that to. She stick you with the kid or is she in the bathroom?”

The aforementioned kid let out the predictable wail.

“So, Bradley,” Mr. Gold emphasized the name in addressing Neal while he scooped up the child and held him close to shush him, “Is there another grandchild I need to go and find?” Neal, Bradley, had his mouth partway open and it flapped a bit without words. Mr. Gold crooned, “It’s ok, Henry, I’ll happily retrieve each and every one of your siblings.”

Belle noted a surprising lack of malice in Mr. Gold’s countenance and words. The man was serious and wanted to know the answer much more than he was angry. 

Emma didn’t miss a beat, “That’s not even your name? Figures. I went to jail knocked-up for a guy who didn’t even tell me his name. I’m a fucking idiot. And I put the baby up for adoption, which Neal, Bradley, whatever, knows, so good luck with that, Mr. Gold.”

“It’s not like that!” Mr. Gold’s apparent son burst out finally. “Ok, it’s a little like that. There’s only one kid, Henry, and I exercised my parental rights to keep him out of the system. There’s no one else, Emma, and I’m sorry for how that went down. I thought you were right behind me.”

“Oh hell!” Emma stretched a shaking hand toward Henry. “Oh hell no. This is not happening.”

Regina pulled Emma against her, rubbing her hip while Mr. Gold pinched the bridge of his nose with his eyebrows in his hairline. “Well, son, just so I have this straight, you were up to something illegal, when you were what, fifteen, impregnated your seventeen odd-year-old girlfriend who got caught and went to jail for you and apparently protected you from getting sent to jail right along with her. Someone helped you through a legal mess so you could raise your son, but I find you three days past your eighteenth birthday in a homeless shelter having just gotten fired from your job for not showing up. You say your mom kicked you both out on your birthday, but what I really want to know is who helped you get Henry in the first place because it definitely wasn’t Maria.”

“Well, father of the year,” the bitterness in Bradley’s voice matched his stony expression, “Since you weren’t around to help me when I needed it, or before that either, someone else had to do that job. I had a teacher, Miss Fa, taught civics, who helped me out. But she left town a year ago and I haven’t seen her since then.”

“I’ll be certain she is handsomely rewarded for the care of my son and grandson.” Mr. Gold rocked and snuggled the still grousing child closer. Belle saw him look at Emma. For a long silent moment he watched her and his eyes seemed to calculate. “You have no legal rights, Deputy Swan.”

And the bottom dropped out of Belle’s stomach. Whatever friendly feeling she’d had toward Mr. Gold vanished in the steam of her blood coming to a rapid boil.

Belle heard Emma start to cry but Belle was already moving. She halted her full armed slap perhaps six inches before it would have connected with Mr. Gold’s face only because of the child he had in his arms, but the shock and hurt on his face had the desired effect anyway.

“There is something broken in you, Mr. Gold. Cold and broken.” Belle settled for hissing in his face. “Emma, come on, let’s go. Regina, help me.”

Regina nodded and together, they got Emma out of the diner.


	14. Chapter 14

With Bradley promptly enrolled at Storybrooke High School, Gold had Henry with him while he was attempting to work in the shop. More like pretending to work in the shop.

He couldn’t have cared less about the work. Dove had handled everything appropriately in his absence as always so there was really nothing to catch up on and since his collection of antiques was naught but a front for his business as landlord, he had no pressing need to do anything he didn’t care to.

So, there he sat on the floor with a toddler in a strange and fascinating environment full of shiny and breakable objects. And he was having the time of his life. The two of them were more or less crawling around on the floor with Gold holding Henry just inches from disaster while he told him a story about each and every trinket he lunged toward. The pile of age appropriate toys were practically useless in such a scintillating milieu as his shop.

He reached for Henry again and the child giggled and squirmed as his grandfather accidentally tickled him. It only followed that he was blowing a raspberry on his wriggling grandson’s stomach to wild toddler laughs when the doorbell chimed and a blast of cold air sent the glass mobile skittering to life.

At first, all he could see were the shoes as he looked toward the door over Henry’s head and flailing arms. And the shoes told him everything he needed to know. Belle. Miss French. Who had nearly slapped him yesterday.

And here he was, rolling about on the toy littered floor in his stain-decorated suit in pursuit of an wormy toddler hell bent on destroying his place of business. She’d probably slap him again, or for the first time, again, just on principal.

But she was silent as he gathered his grandson into his arms and maneuvered to sit cross legged so he could look up at her face.

There was a definite frown on that face. But there also looked to be either befuddlement or curiosity or maybe both. He couldn’t tell. More likely she was so perplexed at the sight before her that she had no idea what to do with her face. He expected “you idiot” to become clear any moment. She’d probably just say it aloud in a moment or two.

“Mr. Gold.” She paused only long enough to blink as her face settled into something resolute. “You have not billed the city for the reconstruction of my kitchen and Regina says she never would have approved of something so extravagant in the first place. Now that I know you traffic in keeping children from their mothers as cruelly as possible, I just wanted to inform you that whatever scheme you’re planning to use to blackmail me into whatever you have in mind won’t work. Regina knows what you did, and about the all but free rent, and has promised me whatever legal protection I might require. I’ve come for my book and to tell you that if you try anything else, a restraining order has already been processed at the sheriff’s station and only needs my word to enact it.”

Gold had frozen stiff with his arms locked around the baby, who was also now staring at Belle French. Being slapped would have been less painful. She’d taken a scoop to his innards and cored him out. “Please, it’s not finished.”

That was all that would come out of his mouth. He hugged Henry close and even though his eyes were filling with tears, he couldn’t look away.

“That’s what you have to say?” Belle put her hands on her hips. “Why the hell do you care if it’s finished? And you’ve had it for months!”

He blinked and began rocking Henry, more to comfort himself than his grandson. “Please, let me finish it.”

For some reason, Gold had flashed back to the moment his father had abandoned him with his aunts. He’d known, no matter his father’s words, that he was being left alone. That he was losing something he couldn’t bear to lose.

Belle just blinked at him. Then her mouth opened part way before shutting again. She shook her head and then pinched at the bridge of her nose before she spoke softly, “So you don’t even care that I’m on to your schemes, the thing you beg me for is to finish work on my book which I’m not paying you for. I just threatened you with a restraining order and this is your reply? Are you sane, Mr. Gold?”

He dropped his eyes from hers which was a mistake because a tear slipped away and into Henry’s hair. “How would I know that? And I don’t think my sanity is relevant, Miss French. Just what reply would satisfy you, anyway? You, and everyone else, will believe whatever you want regardless. So, file the restraining order if that’s what it takes for you to feel safe that I can’t swindle you with my offers of leftovers and wine. But I would really like to finish your book because I keep my promises.”

Silence stretched, but he refused to give in and look back up at her. He’d said his piece.

Finally, she murmured, “I don’t understand you at all, Mr. Gold. But you can forget about the antiques collection order. Not happening.”

“No, you don’t understand me, Miss French, and I don’t expect you to.” There wasn’t enough energy in the words for them to really be a jab, but he figured telling the truth would sting plenty without putting any more effort into it. And he didn’t blame her for it anyway. He was what he was and what he had to focus on right now was building the best relationship he could with his son and grandson. He clearly couldn’t do anything about Belle’s opinions of him.

After another long moment, the door opened, set the bell to ringing and then closed again behind her.


	15. Chapter 15

Her best attempt to not look miserable in a corner at the Yule Ball was fooling no one and she knew it. Regina was using the cover of a slow song to comfort Emma somewhat discretely, but also to keep her from glaring daggers at Mr. Gold who sat in the opposite corner, just as alone as Belle, making no attempt to hide what a waste of his time this whole affair was. He had been staring fixedly at nothing for the past hour. If she couldn’t see him blink when someone crossed his field of vision, Belle might have wondered if he was still alive.

The finally empty champaign glass gave Belle an excuse to get up for more even though she didn’t actually want more. At the bar, she opened her mouth to order more than stopped and looked down. 

Leroy waited patiently for a moment then said, “What’ll it be, sister?”

“Loneliness on the rocks with a twist of slimy, thieving schmuck, and a chaser of unfulfilled expectations?” Belle gave him a pathetic grimace, hoping for pity.

“Bad date?”

“No date.”

“So who’s the schmuck?”

“Mr. Gold.”

“Oh,” Leroy laughed derisively, “who else? That explains everything. Say no more, I have just the thing.”

Belle would have replied, but Leroy had disappeared below the counter to rummage in a little fridge. The scene in her completely swamped out, renovated and redecorated basement was a very merry one. It seemed like most of the town had showed up in various ideas of finery. Mr. Gold wore an impeccably tailored tuxedo that looked like it cost half a year’s wages. Half her year’s wages anyway. Regina and Emma looked resplendent together with Emma in a delicate white dress with suggestions of feathers, Belle suspected the mayor had picked it out specially, and Regina herself looked as queenly as her name suggested.

Ruby had her arms around Mulan Fa, an elegant woman in form flattering-black satin, whom she had introduced as her Boston connection. The two were alternately gazing at each other and exchanging soft little kisses in some sort of game. Marco and coaxed Granny out for a spin and the two were chatting animatedly more than they were actually dancing.

“This’ll fix all your worries, sister. Guaranteed. You can’t drink this and not smile.” Leroy said at her elbow.

“Thank you, I appreciate it, and thank you.” Belle took a sip and choked. Then she returned her full attention to him. “What the hell is this?”

“You’re cut off. I mean, not really, but I always wanted to say that to someone. It’s the fruitiest, sweetest, tangiest, girliest disaster of a virgin drink I could make with what they left me to work with. You can’t taste that without pleasure and you don’t need more booze, you need a pick-me-up. That is a pick-me-up in a glass. I should patent it, I’m such a genius.” The balding little man was grinning ear to ear.

She took another sip. He was right, never in her life had she had a brighter, shinier hug served in a glass. “This is good. Ridiculously good.”

“And just for a moment, you weren’t thinking about how much you owe Mr. Gold.”

“Well, I wasn’t, but now I am. Better drink some more of this. If this can actually make a person forget Mr. Gold, you should bottle it and sell it at the Dark Star Pharmacy for an exorbitant amount. You’d make a-”

“Excuse me, Miss French?”

Only then did it dawn on Belle why Leroy’s eyes had widened and it had nothing to do with a potentially profitable business venture.

The soft Scottish voice at her elbow could only belong to one person.

“Mr. Gold.” She turned to face somber brown eyes.

He sighed and gave a slow blink before speaking, “If you would prefer, I can send your book to a colleague of mine in Boston, at no charge to you of course, to get it finished in good order. His work is every bit as good as my own.”

The glass started to slip from Belle’s hand, but she tightened her grip around it reflexively. What did he mean by this? No charge to her? She wasn’t paying him to begin with, how would anyone else take on such work for free? They wouldn’t of course, it dawned on her.

His eyes. He looked like the sun had gone out, permanently. Belle was missing something crucial here and she felt as though if she said the wrong thing now, she would be missing that something forever. So she stayed silent for a long beat before she said just loud enough to be heard over the music, “Why?”

He blinked and swallowed, then he said, “Dance with me and I’ll tell you. That’s my price.”

“I don’t care how much money she owes you, you don’t extort dances out of ladies. Emma’s right over there if he’s bothering you, Belle.” Leroy’s galant rebuttal reflected well on his courage.

“Uh, Leroy, it’s ok. Um, would you excuse us?” She tilted her head toward the dance floor and Mr. Gold followed her easily. Once out of earshot she said, “Prior to your stunt with Emma’s kid, I might have actually wanted to dance with you. I thought I’d gotten to know you, at least a little bit.” She studied the shiny buttons in front of her, not wanting to meet his eyes, not wanting to see Avery looking back at her. “I think I get it about the book, your word and all, what I don’t get is why you were like that with Emma. That’s my price for a dance.”

He startled her by taking her drink from her hand.

“Hey!” She was more surprised than upset.

“If this really can make you forget Mr. Gold, then I’ll be needing some, if I’m to pay for my dance.” Belle stared and, as Avery took a drink, his eyebrows shot up. He took his time in swallowing. “You’re right, he should bottle this.”

He set the glass down on the nearest table, met her eyes for a moment, then extended his hand to her. Her heart flipped over on itself and Belle took it.

Avery drew her to him and she rested her hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t put his arm at her waist. For a moment she thought he’d changed his mind, but then again, he couldn’t hold her close and use his cane. In fact, his cane handle was gently against her hip, as close as he could get to providing a proper frame while still granting him the support he needed. The full skirt of Belle’s emerald green gown flowed around them like sea-foam and all but hid the cane and his legs from view. At this proximity, she could smell his aftershave- subtle and a bit fruity in a way she hadn’t expected but very much liked.

“Your gown is lovely, Miss French. I rather expected to see Regina’s handiwork on you this evening, but it would appear she let you have a say.” The song was definitely ending, but Avery began to sway them in slow circles regardless.

“When she’s not busy being the mayor, Regina’s not what I expected. She helped me sort through the options, but ultimately, this is the dress I liked best.” 

Her heart was pounding as he spoke next to her ear. “I’m glad to hear it,” he paused to turn them about once again, “My son turned me down when I asked him to come with me tonight, Henry, you know, but you, I thought surely you’d have found someone to keep you company.” Avery was obviously stalling, but his clumsy, if mildly insulting, small talk soothed her anyway.

“I-” the music ended and transitioned to a lively swing number which didn’t suit their purposes at all. Belle chuckled awkwardly and started to move away, but Avery’s thumb and forefinger appearing on either side of her hipbone urged her to remain.

“Ignore it. Tell me.” His breath stirred her hair and she took a quickened breath.

“Storybrooke isn’t exactly brimming with my usual type,” she demurred at last.

“And your type is?”

“Bookishly charming and nerdy. I’m not into drunk fishermen.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Glad I’m not into drunks or glad I’m miserably single?”

To that he just laughed softly and then said nothing.

“Av-, um, Mr. Gold?” He waited. “I was under the impression you were the kind of man who pays his debts.”

She regretted it instantly when she felt him tense up. They had almost been relaxed, dancing together as two people who wanted to dance together, interlocked rightly as two matching puzzle pieces.

“Always, Miss French.” His long sigh tickled her ear. “You should have just gone ahead and slapped me. I wish you had. I didn’t exactly make the situation better, with what I said.”

He fell silent and used the thumb and forefinger on her hip to draw her closer so her chest just brushed his. They swayed to a beat only he could hear and Belle waited in silence.

“I couldn’t let her take Henry away. Not from Bradley, or from me. There is no pain in this world like having a your very much loved and wanted child ripped from you. And I had thought, prior to Maria taking Bradley, that abandonment was the worst pain a person could feel. My aunts raised me from age seven after my father left. So, to answer your question, and pay for my dance,” he moved infinitesimally closer to her, “I panicked. I couldn’t let her rip apart the family I had only just managed to restore.”

Belle swallowed in a tight throat. “Your ex-wife then? She got custody even though you wanted to raise your son?”

“More accurate to say she saw a way to hurt me and succeeded wildly. She had no interest in Bradley. Hence throwing him and her own grandchild out like garbage.” His voice cracked.

Belle squeezed the hand she was holding and he returned the gesture. Still, Belle couldn’t let it go. “Since Emma has been trying to murder you with her eyes all night, I take it you haven’t made amends.”

“No. Bradley isn’t sure what to do about her either. I mean, she’s with the mayor, so things are a bit awkward even if not for the legal tangle. Well, technically there’s no legal tangle, but still, awkward. He’s trying to finish school and raise a toddler while his old man hovers and fusses like he’s still eight.” Belle thought she heard his voice hitch a little, but it was hard to tell over the music.

“Does Emma have any legal rights?” Belle hated even asking, but it seemed important.

“No, she doesn’t.” There wasn’t any heat in the statement.

“Then what would it cost you to tell her what you just told me and apologize?” 

He snorted softly, “My pride, for one thing. And Mr. Gold’s pride is expensive.”

“And what about Avery’s?”

“I suppose it would cost about a case worth of Leroy’s potion, over there.” He nodded in the direction of the abandoned drink.

“I’ve heard you can afford it.” Belle let the unexpected warmth she felt into her words. This wasn’t at all what she expected from this conversation. But another part of her thought perhaps she should have. Living with him had been intimate and sharing space had bred a certain comfort she had missed like she would have missed an amputated limb.

“I suppose I can, at that. Should probably invest early in this business venture so I can profit by the forgetting of Mr. Gold.”

“You want to forget Mr. Gold?”

“At times,” he murmured. “All the time.”

Silence fell between them and a trumpet flare ended the swing piece. Another slow tune followed, but his hand moved away from her hip and he stepped back enough to look at her. “I can’t afford another dance with you, Miss French, so I do hope you’re satisfied.”

Satisfied was the last thing she felt, but a fluttering in her chest kept her silent and she only smiled weakly. Something still didn’t add up with Mr. Gold, never mind her questions about Avery.

Before she could figure out what to say, Avery bowed over her hand and then, at the last moment, kissed it tenderly before straightening again, “Thank you for the dance, Miss French.”

And he walked away.

She stared after him and jumped when Emma demanded, “What was that about?!”

Belle answered honestly, “I have no idea.”

“I don’t buy it. You just danced with the enemy and he kisses your hand like some Scottish Mr. Darcy. You look at him like he just climbed dripping from a pond! Did you forget what he did already?” Regina had a firm grip on Emma’s hand.

“I misjudged at least one situation already and I’m not eager for more just now. So no, I have no idea what is going on in his head. I did ask him to apologize to you though, Emma. We’ll see if he does.” She watch Mr. Gold retreat toward the coat room and out of sight. “I think I’ve had just about enough of confusing and awkward for one night so I’m going to turn in. Goodnight you two.”

Belle didn’t wait for either to give permission, but smiled at them both and followed Mr. Gold.

She caught up to him waiting for the elevator.

“Miss French, turning in so early?”

“Yes, as you so astutely pointed out, I have no date and watching other people dance is no sport.” Belle regretted her decision to answer him directly at the quirk upward of his eyebrow.

“If I’d known you wanted to dance more, I’d have obliged you.” His eyes were intense and locked on her.

In a dry mouth she said, “You said you couldn’t afford it, I don’t try to sell people what they can’t afford.”

His brow drew down and his mouth made a flat line, “Neither do I, Miss French, it’s bad for business.”

The itchy feeling of having once again said something unfortunate settled between Belle’s shoulder blades but this time she resolved not to run away from it, “I didn’t mean it like that, Mr. Gold.”

The elevator arrived and he held the door for her to precede him. “Of course you didn’t. Sore subject for me.”

He sounded contrite, so Belle took a chance, “Why does repairing my book mean so much to you?”

The doors closed and the old elevator rattled into ponderous motion.

Mr. Gold licked his lips, “Because I have this daft notion that my work might make you happy. And when I met you, I wanted to make you happy.”

She could barely hear him above the elevator but her eyes suddenly stung with the threat of tears. Belle slapped the stop button and the elevator lurched to a halt.

He looked up at her with wide apprehensive eyes.

Before she could lose her nerve, she darted up to kiss his cheek. Relaxing back down from her tip-toes, Belle murmured, “Thank you. You were the first person in this town to care about my happiness. I’m sorry I was, well, I’m sorry I couldn’t see that at the time.”

“Quite understandable,” his hand cupped her elbow gently encouraging her to stay close to him.

The strains of a jazz ballad drifted easily up the elevator shaft and Belle made a decision, “You’ve just paid for another dance, Mr. Gold, if you want it.”

In response, his free arm slid fully around her waist so Belle ran her hands up his chest to rest on either side of his neck. He bent his head to be close to hers, but not touching. They rocked together not saying anything. Belle’s heart thudded with enough force for her to feel it and her belly trembled with uncertainty.

She had very much enjoyed dancing with him just minutes ago and now she was in a stopped elevator, completely alone, in the arms of the most notorious man in town. And she liked it just as much as she was still dubious about how he operated in this town, or more accurately, how he operated the town.

Belle knew a tender man named Avery who loved his family existed within the manipulative, hard-edged, and unrelenting business man of Mr. Gold. She felt as though she could never guess whom she would be talking to from one moment to the next. Avery had Belle inconveniently intrigued but Mr. Gold made her frightened and suspicious.

Avery’s hand had wandered up to the open back of her gown to stroke the muscles of her back and without any real thought, Belle laid her head on his chest soaking in the comfort of his touch. It had been so long since anyone had touched her or since she had touched anyone. He let out a puff of breath into her hair and leaned his cheek against her head.

It turned out that Avery had very soft hair and once her fingers found it, not exploring and enjoying it was out of the question.

And so his hand wandered up and down her bare back and her fingers massaged his scalp drawing the strands through them. They echoed one another’s long humming sighs of contentment.

“Is anyone stuck in there? Is everything ok?” A voice crackling over a speaker startled them both and Belle all but tripped over her hem as she stepped back.

Avery looked as spooked as she did and he moved toward the button on the console but Belle lunged for it and got there first.

“Oh, thank you! It’s only been stopped for a minute, maybe it’s stuck or-” Belle slapped the resume button, “Oh thank the gods! Looks like it’s working now. Thank you for your help!”

Avery’s eyebrows were flirting with his hairline and he appeared to be suppressing a laugh.

“We didn’t do anything, Ma’am,” the voice responded, “but we’ll be sure to check it out before anyone else uses it.”

“Great idea, thank you!” Belle released the talk button and smirked at Avery though she felt a flush rising.

“Devious. I didn’t know that about you, Miss French.”

“Couldn’t have them sending a rescue team and wasting city resources.”

“Of course not.”

A moment later, the doors opened into her library’s lobby and Belle bustled out. Mr. Gold followed her closely, but was careful not to tread on her dress. Several other townsfolk were waiting for the elevator so many pairs of eyes watched them exit.

“Might want to use the stairs, just in case.” Belle lied smoothly.

Those eyes flicked between her and Mr. Gold, mostly concerned sympathy, and the group headed for the stairs.

A moment later the lobby was empty.

Mr. Gold hadn’t moved from standing beside her just outside the elevator. He murmured, “Thank you for the dances.”

“My pleasure,” and Belle felt her own sincerity. She’d missed the easiness between them that had existed in his home. She had thought it hopelessly lost. Still not sure how to reconcile the opposing facets of his personality, Belle murmured, “Goodnight, Mr. Gold.”

“Goodnight-” he cut himself off and stopped in his tracks as he was turning away, “I have some sage, butter gnocchi which reheats tolerably for dinner tomorrow night and there’s enough for one more. If you wanted.”

Belle stared at him for a long moment before she said, “I would. Thank you, usual time?”

“Yes, quite, might be a bit more raucous than you’ve grown accustomed to, but I can promise the same culinary standard.” He looked like he still expected her to turn him down.

“I look forward to it. I’ll try to refrain from slapping you,” Belle promised sheepishly.

“I’ll let my son know.” He gave a small self-deprecating smile, “Goodnight, Miss French.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Gold.”


	16. Chapter 16

He could hear bed time from the driveway.

Henry’s noes and shrieks and squeals were echoing off the nearest houses and that joyful noise, to him at least, made Gold’s already warm and buzzing chest expand just a little bit bigger.

It had been everything he could do to concentrate enough on the road to get home safely.

Belle had stunned him three times within the space of twenty minutes. If he didn’t currently feel light as a teenager, he’d have been worried his old bones couldn’t take the thrill. Two dances and a kiss.

It meant nothing of course, nothing in terms of what he desperately wanted it to mean. No, Belle had been grateful for his kindness. She might want to be his friend, but thoughts of her visit tomorrow being the first step toward moving her back into his home to be a part of his family as his-

Stop. It.

Not happening. She would never feel for him the way he was trying desperately not to make real by even thinking.

But she was coming for dinner tomorrow and tomorrow he could pretend just a little bit.

Upstairs, the caterwauling had faded into quieter hiccoughs and then into quiet by the time he walked into the bathroom.

“Bedtime routine going as usual, I take it.” Gold murmured affectionately to his son and grandson.

Henry was now enjoying the warm water and the enormous rubber ducky provided by his grandfather to try to ease the bath time terrors.

Bradley, of course, was soaked through from the earlier protest. “Hi, Papa. I think the duck helps. He only screamed until I started singing that song and put the duck in the water.”

“Rubber ducky, you’re the one, you make bath time so much fun!” Gold sang as he approached Henry and was rewarded by a huge grin, a giggle and Henry slamming the duck down on the surface of the water to soak Bradley anew. “Woah! Worked for you, like father like son.”

“You got bored quickly, I see. No one wants to party with their landlord?”

Gold felt his face flush and he said, “Uh, not exactly.”

Bradley dropped the washcloth he’d been using on Henry’s arm. “What happened?! Who is she?”

“And why do you presume this has anything to do with a woman?” Gold had had every intention of telling Bradley about Belle, but not all about Belle and he had some pride after all.

“Because you look like I felt right before I made him. Am I getting a sibling?”

Gold’s face and neck got hotter. “Raised by your mother!” He coughed and scowled, “Even were that the case, which it’s not, I clearly failed to teach you any manners in your first eight years so I’m going to have to start now.”

His son sighed and retrieved the cloth from the soapy water. In a gently chiding tone he prodded, “Come on Papa, who is she?”

Gold sat on the edge of the tub heedless of his tux and sighed. “It’s never going to happen, son, and it isn’t right anyway.”

“This is serious! Come on. It can’t be worse than what I got myself into.” He had one of Henry’s legs now and the toddler was slapping at the wet plastic of the duck.

“It might be if I ever tried anything.” He held up hand at his son’s aghast expression. “Relax, I won’t. She’d never consider it anyway.”

“Who. Is. It.”

After the long moment it took to gather his courage and decide to make a huge mistake by being straight with his son he said, “You recall Emma’s friend, the little Australian?”

“The one who slapped you?!”

“Almost slapped me.”

“You’re right, Papa, no chance there and, um isn’t she, well, closer to my age than yours?” Bradley looked mildly nauseated and rightly so.

“As I said, never going to happen and yes, it wouldn’t be right.”

Bradley stopped washing and splashed Henry who splashed back. “If you’d given up on this, like you should, you wouldn’t have that expression on your face. What happened?”

“I danced with her. Twice. Then she kissed me. On the cheek.” He added the last hastily.

“And you’re home early? What did you do?” Bradley’s face was horrified fascination.

“I asked her to dinner with us tomorrow night.”

“What?! Then what?”

“She said yes and then she said goodnight.” Gold’s heart was racing and the bathroom was much too warm to be wearing a tux, tuned as it was to keep little Henry comfortable in his bath.

Bradley stared into the bath water. Then, slowly, he said, “So let me get this straight. A woman who, last I saw her, had just attempted to slap you and who’s much too young for you, and who you said there’s no chance with danced with you, kissed you and is coming to dinner. Did I get all that?”

“Yep.”

“You better be quiet is all I have to say. I do not want to hear anything.”

“Bradley!”

“What? I’m an adult.”

“And I’m not ready for you to be an adult.”

“Too late for that.”

“I know.” Gold chanced a look at his son who was giving him a matter-of-fact expression. “I know what it sounds like, but it’s not like that, at least not on her end. She’s new in town and needs friends. I’m,” he paused, “me in town and I need friends too. That’s the end of it.”

“But you wish things were different.”

“I do at that.” The admission felt like a lead apron being removed from over his chest at the dentist’s office. He could breathe. Then he smiled. “Do me a favor and don’t tell anyone that. Miss French doesn’t need to worry about that from me. I’ll handle it.”

“And I thought my life had problems. At least I know my father’s a human being. I wasn’t sure, for a while.” Bradley gave him a little grin.

“Fair, son. Fair.”

Bradley resumed bathing Henry and the three of them enjoyed the relaxed family playtime.

When Gold held an open towel out to receive a wriggling Henry for drying, Bradley delivered the giggling toddler into his grandfather’s arms for fluffing and cuddling. Together, he and Bradley helped Henry into pajamas and then to brush his teeth. Even only a few weeks old, this evening ritual already felt precious and natural. Gold read a story, then Bradley did and then Henry was down for the night.

“Come down for tea, son.” Gold murmured once they shut the door on Henry’s darkened room.

“Sounds ominous, I’m on Christmas break, so I know I’m not in trouble at school.”

“It’s nothing like that, just life stuff to talk about.” Gold led the way downstairs and into the kitchen. “Belle had some opinions, while we were dancing, which I think bare consideration.”

“Belle now?” Bradley gave him a knowing smile.

“She asked me to call her that, but I just hadn’t been because she was upset with me.”

“She did? When was that?”

“While she was living here.”

“What?!” Bradley dropped a tea cookie back onto his saucer. “You didn’t tell me she was living here!”

“Relax, son, I rented a room to her after a storm damaged her flat above the library.” He knew he wasn’t telling him everything, but he hadn’t ever meant to say as much as he already had.

“So she stayed with you for a couple of days?”

“A couple of months.”

“Months. Papa. Months!” Bradley placed both palms flat on the counter top and leaned into his father’s space. “She spent months living here with you and you think she doesn’t know you’re into her? I knew within two minutes.”

“In actual fact, it took you a couple of weeks because all you knew about her was that she nearly decked me.” Gold defended himself.

“Makes no difference. You come home glowing because she danced with you, twice apparently, and kissed you and you think she doesn’t know. Papa, she is coming for dinner. She knows or will know the second she next sees you. You have a terrible poker face.”

“Who’s side are you on anyway? And why are we talking about this again?” Gold groused as the teapot began to whistle.

When the noise had ceased and the tea was steeping, Bradley murmured, “We’re talking about you so we don’t have to talk about whatever it is you brought me down here to talk about.”

“Well that’s definitely true.” Gold sighed. “We need to discuss Emma. Have you given any thought to what having her in town is going to mean for Henry?”

Bradley’s face rumpled up in discomfort. “That’s what I was afraid of. I have no idea what to do now. I’ve been avoiding her as best I can, but this is a really small town and that won’t last.”

“And it probably shouldn’t.”

“I’d move away if I could-”

“Please don’t do that.” Gold didn’t like how desperate he sounded, but he couldn’t help it.

“Don’t worry, Papa, I know what you are offering us is way better for Henry than I can do myself. I couldn’t manage three days.”

“That’s not why I want you here. I want you here so we can be a family, not because I can buy material necessities.” He knew his hurt feelings were showing but he couldn’t help it. That had been happening a lot lately.

“Ack, Papa! Not what I meant. Or, not how I meant it. I mean!” He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his acne infested and lean teenage visage. “I missed you. Every day. Didn’t know why you never called. Never so much as a card.” Bradley held up a forestalling hand to keep him from objecting, “I know, I know, she kept all of it from me, but that doesn’t actually change how it was for me. You showing up like a knight on a white horse out of one of our bedtime stories, I thought I had finally cracked, gone delusional, totally fucking nuts. Sorry, Papa, but I’m trying to say-” here his son’s voice broke and he choked for a moment, “I feel like you’re giving us a second chance to be a family and I want that. Not what you can buy, but a family life for us. But Emma’s messy. She doesn’t want Henry and I don’t want to subject Henry to knowing the mother that doesn’t want him, that abandoned him.”

Gold’s heart was pounding in his chest and he couldn’t seem to grab onto his thoughts well enough to say them. Finally he croaked, “What are you going to do?”

“For now, finish school, get a job, then save up enough money to hopefully get Henry out of town before he’s old enough to figure out his mother doesn’t want him.” Bradley’s voice was so small, so vulnerable.

Gold knew Bradley was crushed by Maria tossing the two of them out with the trash. He came around the end of the counter and pulled his son into his arms. “There’s nothing in the world I can do about your mother. If there was, I’d do it. I know I should have fought harder, tried again, and again, and again after that if that still didn’t work, but know that now I will help you and be here for you in every way possible and if you want to leave town, I’ll leave town with you so we can stay together. If that’s what you want.”

Gold was silent a long time clutching his son who seemed to be leaning on him boneless as a rag.

Eventually he spoke again, “You’ve spoken to Emma, she said she doesn’t want anything to do with Henry?”

“Why? She put him up for adoption. You saw her in the diner, all ‘this is not happening,’ she was horrified.” Bradley mumbled into his shoulder.

Gold nudged Bradley to stand up and look at him. “I’m not convinced that’s how she feels now. I just spent the evening with her glaring at me like I was a kidnapper. And Belle certainly thinks I was out of line for what I said about her legal status. She was very clear about that.”

Bradley’s brow furrowed, “You think she might want to take Henry from us? She can’t. I know she can’t.”

“No, no, son, I just mean that Belle implied something I hadn’t considered before. That maybe she might have wanted to be in Henry’s life, but couldn’t be because of circumstances.” Saying that nearly choked him. “It might not be impossible for Henry to have a relationship with his mother without us losing him.” Gold’s heart pounded and he was sweating under his collar. This went against his every instinct, but Belle thought it might be possible. Unless he was reading her statement wrong.

“I got the impression that she was rather done with me, the mayor and all.” Bradley’s voice was small but steady.

“Do you love her?”

“Yes? I mean, it’s been years and so much has happened. I don’t know. She’s clearly moved on and I don’t really want to be that guy who clings to the past. I’m kinda confused, you know?” Bradley dumped himself back on his stool and poured them both some tea.

“Make’s sense. Seems like the first thing to do would be to find out what she wants. If she doesn’t want to be in Henry’s life, we have one set of considerations. If she does, there are other possibilities.” Gold wrapped his hands around the too-hot mug had left them there in spite of the mild discomfort.

“That means I have to talk to her, doesn’t it.”

“Yes, that’s what it means. As much as I am one-hundred percent your parent and here for you, I won’t take responsibility away from you either.” Gold wanted to make it all better, just take care of everything himself and put his son to bed with a teddy and a story, but the time for that had passed and he had a young adult to parent, not a school aged child. Not counting being Henry’s grandfather of course.

“I get that.” Bradley chanced a sip of hot tea. “Could I leave Henry with you tomorrow so I can drop by the station?”

“Absolutely.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Just go to the address I gave you, my girl, there’s a Christmas surprise waiting for you. Trust your papa.” Moe’s voice sounded so warm and inviting and Belle got the feeling of seeing all the gifts Santa had left on Christmas morning all over again.

“Right now, though? It’s snowing.” Belle hedged. The address he had given her was a few blocks away from the library and about half a block from the water. She had no idea what could possibly be there.

“Just humor your old man and do what your told for once, Belle.” There was no sternness in his tone, just affectionate ribbing.

“Ok, Papa, I’ll put on all my woolies and trudge through the snow to destinations unknown because it’s almost Christmas.” Belle feigned exasperation. The post office was between the library and the destination in question, so that wasn’t what he had in mind. And it was closed by now on Christmas Eve anyway.

“Call me when you get there, ok?”

“Ok, might take me a little while, I’m in my pajamas,” Belle told him.

“Ok, but don’t take too long.” Her father hung up.

Belle stuffed herself into slacks, snow pants, coat, mittens, hat and scarf before lacing up sturdy boots. She hadn’t really been prepared for what a snowy climate would really mean for daily life. No skirts and heels most of the winter. She needed to buy new clothes.

It was snowy and cold and snowing in swirling gusts that tickled her face with fluttering tingles of ice. The sun had almost set, but it was still afternoon regardless of the fading light. Everything around was cast in shades of purple and blue with the streetlights reflecting off the blanket of snow.

Belle slogged through the fresh powder layered over the icy sidewalk slowly enough to keep her unpracticed footing.

She had her head down, concentrating on not falling down in the slippery conditions, until she noticed light coming from a shop window that had been closed for as long as she’d been in town. She looked up at the glowing new sign: Game of Thorns.

A flower shop. Her father had known of a new flower shop and ordered her something to pick up? How sweet. Then she realized that if a flower shop had just opened in Storybrooke, the chances of her father getting approved to immigrate to open a flower shop here had just gone from unlikely to impossible. Belle’s heart sank.

Through the windows, she saw all the wonderful trappings of her childhood. She had grown up among buckets of blooms and tending the living plants for sale when she was old enough and it made her miss him all the more. She didn’t want to go in and get a consolation prize when what she wanted was her father.

A man carrying large buckets stuffed with blooms came into view as he walked past the window.

Belle’s heart skipped a beat and then she floundered through the snow and yanked open the door.

“Papa!”

He startled and almost dropped the merchandise but recovered. “Belle!” He set the flowers down hastily and snatched her into his arms for a long hug.

“Oh, Papa! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“For this moment. I wanted this moment.”

Neither said a word for a very long time.

Finally Belle wormed her way to look up at her father’s suspiciously wet face, “How?”

“An investor came through for me. I don’t own the business outright, but I wouldn’t be here at all otherwise.” He was beaming.

“I can’t believe it. Papa, this is, well, it’s everything I wanted for Christmas.”

“Me too, Belle.”

Belle spent Christmas joyfully with her father helping him move in to both the flower shop and his little apartment upstairs. Together they prepared for a grand opening just before New Year’s.

That day, Belle spent the morning before the library opened in her father’s bustling shop. Parties all over town were ordering arrangements and party-goers were ordering boutonnières and corsages. Curious townsfolk with time off work between Christmas and the new year we’re stopping by to visit and welcome the new business to town.

Belle hadn’t smiled so much since her arrival in Storybrooke. And seeing her father smile gave Belle’s heart a lovely buoyancy. There hadn’t been many smiles since her mother died, but here, in this new place far from home, maybe they could figure out how to be a family again.

“Papa, the library opens at noon, do you think you can manage without me?”

“Of course I can, you’ve been a wonder already. But there is one delivery which at believe is on your way. Could you take these to Mr. Gold?” Her father held out an expensive bouquet.

“He ordered flowers? Really?”

“Oh, no, these are a thank you.”

The blood started roaring in Belle’s ears. “For what?”

Her father’s brow crinkled at her change in demeanor. “He’s the reason I’m here at all. He’s the investor that made this possible.”

Her father sounded so innocently perplexed and Belle saw red. Her jaw clenched painfully and she couldn’t breathe. Could Regina’s promise of legal protection get her father out of this mess? She doubted it.

“Papa.” Belle started as soon as she could get words through her barred teeth, “What are the terms?”

“He has the controlling share-”

A growl verging on a yell ripped from Belle’s throat. She snatched the flowers and took off at a full stomp the entire four blocks to Mr. Gold Pawn and Antiquities Dealer. She nearly through the door off it’s hinges on the way in.

She stopped dead at the scene as the door rebounded off a display case and the bell above it chimed in distress.

Emma had Henry in her arms while Regina was holding a glass unicorn just out of his pudgy reach. The sudden blast from the open door set the unicorns skittering wildly into motion. They sent shards of colored light all over the room and Henry clapped his baby hands with a squeal of delight.

“What’s wrong-” Mr. Gold dashed through the curtain but stopped abruptly at the sight of her. “Belle? What is it? What’s happened?”

She kicked the door closed with an effort not to damage it. Her eyes flicked again to Emma, Henry and her boss.

“Belle?” Regina asked right on Mr. Gold’s heels.

Hot betrayal stung Belle’s eyes but she found she had a hard time knowing where to start shredding Mr. Gold. She settled for: “How fucking dare you! I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but you won’t get away with it. I will run you out of town with a mob and make damned sure Emma keeps her baby. You son of a bitch!”

“What did you do?” Emma said slowly fixing her gaze on a very startled Mr. Gold keeping a secure hold on Henry.

“He stole my father’s business from him! Made sure he’d be forever under his control, always owing him, never able to get free. Like me and those damned cabinets! No, I haven’t forgotten! And my father! Thinking you a reputable business man, sends you flowers out of the goodness of his heart! For screwing him over and he doesn’t even know it yet!” Hot tears burned in Belle’s eyes but hadn’t fallen.

Mr. Gold looked crestfallen. As well he should for getting called out on his disgusting scheme in front of the mayor and the sheriff’s deputy. His jaw worked and his eyes flicked between the rather thrashed flowers in her hand and her face.

Finally, he licked his lips and murmured in the silence: “Did your father show you the terms of the agreement?”

“All he had to say was controlling share for me to know he’d been taken in by an unscrupulous, morally bankrupt, selfish asshole!” Belle shot back.

Mr. Gold tsk-ed softly once, took a breath, and then said calmly, “I’ll just go and retrieve the agreement for you to read.”

He returned through the curtain from whence he’d come.

“Belle, Belle, we’re right here and we’re not going anywhere. I have lawyers and I’ll have them go over anything you need with a fine-toothed comb.” Regina had a hand rubbing between her shoulder blades and was speaking to her like she had a bomb strapped to her chest.

Not too far off from how she felt.

Emma had a thoughtful frown on her face and she was holding a confused looking Henry closer and rocking him.

“I appreciate that, Regina. I will very likely need to take you up on that. I can’t believe this! And I thought!” She cut herself off and squeezed her eyes shut. A grinding pain in her chest had started up on seeing him. A lot like the pain of heartbreak, betrayal was hot and sharp.

“Miss French, if you would join me, we can go over the terms of my investment in Game of Thorns.” Mr. Gold’s voice was so different from Avery’s as to be virtually unrecognizable.

Belle stomped across the shop and threw the flowers in the direction of the nearest waste basket. “Show me.”

He did.

Belle read. Very carefully. Then, when she’d finished, she started again at the top. Upon completing a second read through, she looked up at the flat stare of Mr. Gold. “I don’t understand.”

“No, and you don’t bother with understanding before forming your opinions and acting on them. This shouldn’t surprise me by now. But I had thought, well, clearly not. I was mistaken, so never mind that. The terms are clear. In exchange for rent, facilitating your father’s immigration, twenty-five percent of the profits and the first six month’s worth of merchandise, I hold the controlling share of the business for five years. After that, should the business be profitable, Mr. French will have the option of buying me out over time or all at once should he wish it and paying rent for the pleasure of using a building I own. If it isn’t profitable, I retain controlling share and may do what I see fit to make it profitable if I can.”

“You’d likely make more charging rent than this deal offers you long term.” Belle didn’t get it. He was up to something and she couldn’t see it. And she hated feeling stupid.

“That’s almost certainly true.” His voice was cold.

“Why? What could you possibly hope to get out of my family? You have everything you need and now your own family as well. Why would you run some con on mine?” Belle’s incredulity outweighed her caution.

“I wouldn’t.”

“What?”

“I said, I wouldn’t.” He repeated himself. “Madam Mayor, have you received a bill for services rendered for the apartment above the library. Say for new cabinetry?”

“I have not.” Regina said quietly.

“And have you received a complaint from Marco’s Fine Furniture of non-payment for said contract?”

“I have not,” Regina repeated herself.

“And are there any code violations or irregularities with the property now occupied by Game of Thorns?”

“It passed inspection like all of your properties, Mr. Gold.” Regina kept her voice level. “Like my employee, however, I’m waiting for an answer as to why you are concerning yourself with her affairs and those of her family.”

Mr. Gold sighed and blinked slowly, the first signs of genuine emotion since she arrived. “I would be wasting my time to tell either of you. But, Miss French, I will do this for you. If at any time your father would like to renegotiate the terms of his agreement, he may do so. Regina has heard me say so and is notorious for her long memory. I’m certain she’ll hold me to it. Would you excuse me a moment?”

He disappeared through the curtain again.

Belle had no idea what to say. Her belly, on fire moments ago, now churned with nausea and she had a sinking feeling of having made a tremendous and unredeemable mistake.

He returned with a brown paper wrapped package of a familiar dimension and the discomfort in Belle’s belly intensified. He set it on top of the contract in front of her.

“Please open it now where there are witnesses.” She could hear an undercurrent of anger now in his voice.

Belle carefully undid the wrappings and the layer of tissue beneath. In her hands was the perfect restoration of her mother’s book. Every detail correct. Shining gold cover art. Perfectly rendered new spine and cover.

“Open it to make sure I haven’t cheated you.” 

That stung, but Belle carefully opened the cover to reveal her mother’s inscription in her neat hand. The pages were perfectly aligned and stitched. The book moved with the suppleness of youth, perfect for reading, no longer relegated to a status so fragile as to be unusable.

It was truly a masterwork.

There were tears on her cheeks but Belle couldn’t take her hands away from her book long enough to swipe them away.

His work, his caring, his dedication to every detail. Not in ten years worth of monthly payments could she afford this. And he had carefully wrapped it up, ready to give to her. At some point. Some point probably in the near future when he invited her back over for left overs.

Not anymore though. She rather thought Avery would never speak to her again, even if Mr. Gold was occasionally forced to.

She couldn’t look at him.

Behind her she heard Regina murmur, “Emma, I think we should go. Let’s take Henry over to the station. He can play in a holding cell or something while we call his father to let him know where we are.”

“Agreed.”

A few moments later, the coat rustling had given way to the door closing behind them and the bell’s chime dying away into the near silence of two people breathing.

And neither said a word for a long time.

At last Belle whispered, still not looking at him, “Please, just be straight with me and tell me why.”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Is there any chance at all the answer would make a difference in your estimation of me?”

She traced the gold letters with gentle fingers, imagining the long hours he must have spent to achieve this miracle. “A chance, maybe even a good one.”

“I’m not ever going to explain this to you again, so I hope you are listening.” He was the one whispering now in what sounded like a tight throat. “Belle, before you walked into my shop, I was a bitter and resigned old man with nothing to look forward to but the brief distraction of a new trinket to fix. My son would never want a father such as me in his life, even if I could find him.”

He cleared his throat and paused so long Belle thought he wasn’t going to continue.

Then he said, “But you came in here with a treasure from a long lost parent having not given up on loving that parent even though she was dead. I wanted that, Belle. I wanted to be a parent worthy of that. In that moment, I saw a chance to be the father my son deserved even after all these years of separation.”

He sighed long and heavy and Belle held her breath completely unable to look at him.

“I thought, in that moment, that if I could find what was left of my heart, scrape it together and make it work, that I could give it to my son and that that would be enough. The first piece of my heart I found was the one that wanted you to have your long lost parent back. So, I had to fix your book. To give you back your mother.”

Belle’s tears were causing her to sniffle with rhythmic regularity and she was in imminent danger of getting his artwork wet- unforgivable- when his hand pushed a silk pocket square against her fingers where they rested on his countertop. It was so soft, and still warm from being against his body. An actual sob escaped and she brought it to her nose, rather out of preferable options to avoid making a mess.

He was quiet a while longer before picking up his train of thought again. “The next piece of my heart I found when I heard your home and been destroyed. My home was gutted when Maria took Bradley from me and I couldn’t bare the thought of you living in a destroyed home alone, like I had done. So I asked you, quite selfishly I’ll admit, to live with me while I repaired your home. I knew I couldn’t fix what had happened to mine, but with you there I remembered what I had loved about being a father. Caring for another human being.”

Belle heaved a huge sigh and then accidentally looked up at him. Avery, with his face crinkled in sadness, was looking back at her.

“And so, when you told me you’d been separated from your father, I had no choice but to fix that. Because if I could fix your family, I could be worthy of mine.” He gave a soft sob then, “My son was so angry when I brought him home. But yesterday he forgave me. If you hadn’t woken me up, reminded me of the heart bitterness had killed, I wouldn’t now be the man who can be a father to my son. So I shamelessly used your problems without your consent or knowledge to fix my own. And there’s one more thing.”

He sniffled and darted away again into the back to return a moment later with something clenched in his free hand.

“The morning I met you, I knew I wanted you to have this, even though I didn’t know why at the time. Now I know. You have given me precious time with my family and a grandchild I might never have known because you inspired me, so I wanted this to be yours as a thank you for that.”

His hand, clenched around a small object she couldn’t fully see, landed on the counter next to hers, hesitated for a moment, then pulled away leaving the gold pocket watch she had seen in pieces on that bright fall morning.

Whole. Perfect. Ticking and showing the correct time, he had brought it back to life.

Belle stared at the watch. Then something occurred to her.

“I didn’t do anything for you, Mr. Gold. All of that, all of it, you did yourself. And I,” Belle choked on tears, “am nothing more than an ungrateful, suspicious and judgmental gossip. As you rightly called me. You are completely worthy of your son’s love, but I am completely unworthy of yours.”

She looked away hastily as she heard what she’d really said after it left her lips. She hadn’t meant to say that.

“Do you want it? My,” his voice sounded strangled, “love?”

“Yes.” She whispered blinking rapidly up at him.

She saw him blink and swallow, then he was moving around the counter toward her.

A trembling hand reached for her cheek, a thumb ghosted over the cheekbone. “You brought me dessert. You spent two months of your life with me. You danced with me when others said you shouldn’t. You kissed me and lied for me. Don’t tell me you’re not worthy. You had good reason to suspect me and I didn’t help with that because I kept things from you out of cowardice. But no more. If you want,” his eyes crinkled around unshed tears and his voice squeaked, “if you ever wanted me, I’d be yours.”

Belle’s heart thundered and she was trembling head to foot, but slowly she closed the distance between them and brought her lips to his.


	18. Epilogue: One Year Later

Belle’s reading attacks had reached a whole new level.

Dinner was only two hours away and everyone was busy. After a fashion, in Belle’s case. He and Regina had tactfully, he thought, kicked Belle out of the kitchen to watch Henry and clean up his playroom. Emma and Bradley were sorting out packages while Belle had Henry distracted.

Belle? Belle was having a reading attack. And Avery wasn’t the least bit upset.

The playroom was thrashed with toys everywhere. There wasn’t so much as a clear path in any direction. In the center of the maelstrom sat Belle and Henry deep in Where the Wild Things Are. Around her were six other classic children’s books. Belle sat cross-legged with Henry fitted neatly into the space between her body and where ankles crossed in his own cross-legged pose making the two of them look like a stackable set. 

At a page turn Avery murmured, “Belle.” She looked up. “Marry me.”

As if he’d told her he’d unloaded the dishwasher she said, “Oh. Yeah, of course.”

She went right back to reading and Henry was none the wiser. Avery picked his way into the room, dumped some toys onto the floor off a tiny stool next to Belle and set her tea and snacks on it.

“Thanks, Avery. I’ll be right down.” Back to reading.

Upon his return to the kitchen, Regina commented, “What’s that look for, the room still a complete disaster?”

“Absolutely.” He kept right on grinning as they cooked together.

It was a good thing he had a big house. He never thought he’d need it, after Maria took Bradley, but having it stuffed with people was the second best thing in the world. The first best thing was of course, having a soon to be complete family.

Would Belle want to wait for summer to get married? Or could they just go to the courthouse after the holiday and get the job done? He didn’t care one way or another. The second she said yes, he’d considered himself married.

Now, sitting at a crowded table full of smiling people and world class food, Avery ate a bite occasionally, much more interested in observing the scene.

“Avery, pass the pea purée. Do you think we should tell them now or later?” Belle, at his right had ended up at the foot of the table and Bradley and Emma had put Henry at the head between them. Regina was nosing at Emma’s hair while she smiled over something apparently funny. Scattered around willy-nilly were Moe French, Ruby, Granny and Ruby’s love Milan Fa- much to Bradley’s delight. Apparently, Miss Fa was the same Miss Fa who had saved Henry from a life in the system. Avery, when he had found this out, insisted she and the Lucases join them for this Christmas Eve family dinner.

Granny had been skeptical until she got a whiff from the kitchen.

He darted a look back at Belle who had been following his gaze around the table. “Now’s good. When do you want to get married? They’re going to ask.”

“Spring? Or do you not want to wait that long?”

“Wait that long for what?” Granny’s hearing was legendary and her eyes darted back and forth between them. “Will we be needing a bigger table?”

Her appraising stare at Belle made Avery uncomfortable and eager at the same time.

“Not just yet,” Belle smiled at her kindly, “but could happen eventually.”

She turned a sparking gaze at him and a furnace started up in his belly.

“It could at that.” By the time he had finished talking, the few who hadn’t already directed their attention toward the increasingly awkward attempt at a wedding announcement had come to quiet and were looking at him.

“What could happen, Papa?”

“You may eventually get some siblings because Avery and I are getting married in the spring.” Belle dropped that on them as if announcing that she intended to shovel snow later and promptly stuffed her mouth full of food.

Avery took a bite hastily too. Whomever chewed too fast was going to have to answer the follow up questions. It wasn’t going to be him.

Bradley was trying not to wrinkle up his face at the first half of her sentence and not succeeding. Regina smirked. Emma nodded and then wiped Henry’s face.

Moe said, “You’ll have to start on your flower orders now because spring is a very busy time, my girl.”

“I’m leaving that entirely up to you, Papa. I have complete confidence.” Belle said around an almost full mouth.

Ruby started giggling and Mulan smiled rather impishly beside her. Suspicious. However, Mulan said quite reasonably, “Congratulations. I wish you every happiness.”

And with that, everyone raised their glasses, “Every happiness!”

He and Belle both drank and then he kissed her gently.

Getting Henry to bed on Christmas Eve was more of a challenge now that he had a concept of what Christmas morning might be, but at last he and Belle were getting ready for bed. Belle sat on the side of the bed in her pajama set, the ones with little clouds all over them, winding her watch. She did it every night before they went to sleep.

Soon to be his wife, he thought. In a way, Avery was glad today had been as casual as it had been. He hadn’t planned on proposing or announcing it at dinner or any of those things. Sure, Belle didn’t have a ring yet, but that didn’t matter.

Every night, Belle wound that old watch and created their time for the next day, he thought.

Aloud he said, “I’m glad you like that watch, Belle.”

“I think of how much time and care you spent building our relationship before I knew we had one every time I wind this. You inspire me, Avery, to look beyond what’s broken in the world and to what can be instead. So every time I wind this, I think of what wonder we’ll make together tomorrow.” She set the watch down on her bedside table and reached out for him.

He met her halfway, “We could make a little wonder right now, if you want.”

She answered him with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I do hope you'll check out Avatoh's gorgeous artwork for this fic on tumblr. Please let me know what you think of this work, me or the world in general. I'm not too fussy.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do go ahead and wander over to tumblr to look up Avatoh and I! We'd love to see you and TMI Tuesdays could even be a thing.


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